Excise office, who made great
profession of being better than his neighbours.

He was always coming into Miss Pinckney's to tea or supper, and
invariably, when listening to the aunt's stories of Jack's
misdemeanours, talked of the bad end to which naughty boys were
brought, and of the sins of disobedience bringing their sure reward.

Mr. Skinner had the disagreeable habit of uttering truths in the most
unpleasant manner. A great deal that he said was correct; but somehow
his words seemed to have no effect on those whom he addressed. There
was a dash of unreality about Mr. Skinner, and a certain want of
candour, which Jack's eyes were quick to detect.

He suspected that Mr. Skinner came to Miss Pinckney's "for what he
could get," that he liked a chair by her fire in the back parlour, and
that the glass of hot gin and water, sweetened to his taste, with a bit
of lemon floating on the top, was his grand attraction.

The smell of this glass of spirit and water was odious to Jack; and he
naturally felt aggrieved, when on one occasion Mr. Skinner, coming in
to tea, devoured the whole plate of hot buttered toast or muffins, and
talked of the duty of thankfulness, and how much more any of us had
than we deserved--Jack meantime having slices of very stale bread
scraped with a little salt butter. The contrast between his own share
of the fare and Mr. Skinner's was sufficiently provoking. Then too of
late Jack had been conscious that both Mr. Skinner and his aunt had
been doing their best to bring his mother round to their view--that he
was "the worse-behaved and most ill-conditioned boy that ever lived."

That last great outbreak of temper, when he had rushed off, and left
his mother to pass a sleepless and tearful night, had been caused not
so much by the shower of reproaches heaped on him, as by his aunt's
bitter words: "If you go on like this, you'll break your mother's
heart. Even she is getting sick of you, and you would be a good
riddance!"

He knew well enough it was not true. He knew that if all the world
were against him, his mother would never give him up. But, stung to
the quick, he had poured out a torrent of angry words; and addressing
his aunt as "an old cat, who shouldn't have the chance of setting her
claws into him again!" he had rushed off and left his mother miserable.

As soon as the house was quiet and Miss Pinckney's long tirade against
"spoilt wicked boys" had ceased, Patience Harrison had cr