iberation Society, in a
high and dry parson's rooms? This is as good as a play."

"I suppose one is not required to stay at exactly the same point of
opinion all one's life," said Northcote, with a half-smile.

"By George! but you are though, when you're a public man; especially
when you're on a crusade. Haven't I heard you call it a crusade? I can
tell you that changing your opinion is just the very last thing the
public will permit you to do. But I shan't tell for my part--make
yourself easy. Clarence, don't you let it out; your mother, fortunately,
is out of the way. The world shall never know through me that young
Northcote, the anti-state Churchman, was discovered hob-nobbing with a
snug chaplain in a sinecure appointment. Ha, ha! had you there."

"To do Northcote justice," said Mr. May; "he began life in Carlingford
by pointing out this fact to the neighbourhood; that it was a sinecure,
and that my son and I--"

"Would it not be more to the point to inspect the chapel?" said
Reginald, who had been standing by impatiently playing with a big key;
upon which Mr. Copperhead laughed more loudly than before.

"We'll not trouble the chapel," he said, "railway stations are more in
my way; you are all a great deal finer than I am, and know a deal more,
I suppose; but my roughness has served its purpose on the whole, better
perhaps for some things--yes, for some things, Clar, and you may thank
your stars, old boy. If you had been a parson's son, by George! there
would have been no fat appointment waiting for you."

"After all, my son's appointment is not so very fat," said Mr. May,
forcing a laugh. "It is not so much as many a boy at school gets from
his father."

"Ah, you mean my boy at school! he's an extravagant dog. His mother and
he, sir, are made of different clay from me; they are porcelain and I am
delft. They want fine velvet cupboards to stand themselves in, while I'm
for the kitchen dresser. That's the difference. But I can afford it,
thank Heaven. I tell Clarence that he may thank his stars that I can
afford it, and that he isn't born a poor man's son. He has been plucked
at Oxford, you know," he said, with a big laugh, thrusting forth his
chest as Clarence thrust forth his shirt-front, with an apparent
complacency over the very plucking. My son can afford to be plucked, he
seemed to say. He got up as he spoke, and approaching the fireplace
turned his back to it, and gathered up his coat-tails under his a