ionate
nature, child, and pray to be forgiven. My son, oh my son!"

Here with a burst of tears which she could no longer control the
little woman threw herself on the neck of her first born, whilst Harry
went up very feebly to Mr. Ward, and said, "Indeed, I ask your pardon,
sir. I couldn't help it; on my honour, I couldn't; nor bear to see my
brother struck."

The widow was scared, as after her embrace she looked up at George's pale
face. In reply to her eager caresses, he coldly kissed her on the
forehead, and separated from her. "You meant for the best, mother," he
said, "and I was in the wrong. But the cup is broken; and all the king's
horses and all the king's men cannot mend it. There--put the fair side
outwards on the mantelpiece, and the wound will not show."

Then George went up to Mr. Ward, who was still piteously bathing his eye
and forehead in the water. "I ask pardon for Hal's violence, sir," he
said in great state. "You see, though we are very young, we are
gentlemen, and cannot brook an insult from strangers. I should have
submitted, as it was mamma's desire; but I am glad she no longer
entertains it."

"And pray, sir, who is to compensate me?" says Mr. Ward; "who is to
repair the insult done to _me_?"

"We are very young," says George, with another of his old-fashioned bows.
"We shall be fifteen soon. Any compensation that is usual amongst
gentlemen--"

"This, sir, to a minister of the Word!" bawls out Ward, starting up, and
who knew perfectly well the lad's skill in fence, having a score of times
been foiled by the pair of them.

"You are not a clergyman yet. We thought you might like to be considered
as a gentleman. We did not know."

"A gentleman! I am a Christian, sir!" says Ward, glaring furiously, and
clenching his great fists.

"Well, well, if you won't fight, why don't you forgive?" says Harry. "If
you won't forgive, why don't you fight? That's what I call the horns of a
dilemma." And he laughed his jolly laugh.

But this was nothing to the laugh a few days afterwards, when, the
quarrel having been patched up along with poor Mr. Ward's eye, the
unlucky tutor was holding forth according to his custom, but in vain. The
widow wept no more at his harangues, was no longer excited by his
eloquence. Nay, she pleaded headache, and would absent herself of an
evening, on which occasions the remainder of the little congregation were
very cold indeed. One day Ward, still making desperate efforts