ngs about the goings-on at Hope Farm.

'Manning,' said he, 'I see you don't think I am half good enough for
your friends. Out with it, man.'

'No,' I replied, boldly. 'I think you are good; but I don't know if you
are quite of their kind of goodness.'

'And you've found out already that there is greater chance of
disagreement between two "kinds of goodness", each having its own idea
of right, than between a given goodness and a moderate degree of
naughtiness--which last often arises from an indifference to right?'

'I don't know. I think you're talking metaphysics, and I am sure that
is bad for you.'

'"When a man talks to you in a way that you don't understand about a
thing which he does not understand, them's metaphysics." You remember
the clown's definition, don't you, Manning?'

'No, I don't,' said I. 'But what I do understand is, that you must go
to bed; and tell me at what time we must start tomorrow, that I may go
to Hepworth, and get those letters written we were talking about this
morning.'

'Wait till to-morrow, and let us see what the day is like,' he
answered, with such languid indecision as showed me he was
over-fatigued. So I went my way. The morrow was blue and sunny, and
beautiful; the very perfection of an early summer's day. Mr Holdsworth
was all Impatience to be off into the country; morning had brought back
his freshness and strength, and consequent eagerness to be doing. I was
afraid we were going to my cousin's farm rather too early, before they
would expect us; but what could I do with such a restless vehement man
as Holdsworth was that morning? We came down upon the Hope Farm before
the dew was off the grass on the shady side of the lane; the great
house-dog was loose, basking in the sun, near the closed side door. I
was surprised at this door being shut, for all summer long it was open
from morning to night; but it was only on latch. I opened it, Rover
watching me with half-suspicious, half-trustful eyes. The room was
empty.

'I don't know where they can be,' said I. 'But come in and sit down
while I go and look for them. You must be tired.'

'Not I. This sweet balmy air is like a thousand tonics. Besides, this
room is hot, and smells of those pungent wood-ashes. What are we to do?'

'Go round to the kitchen. Betty will tell us where they are.' So we
went round into the farmyard, Rover accompanying us out of a grave
sense of duty. Betty was washing out her milk-pans in the cold bubbl