ng to do with _horses_ this winter; I sent Red
Squirrel off into the country. What is the reason, Auntie, that if a
fellow takes to horses, they all think he is going straight to the
bad? What is there so abominable about them?"

"Nothing," said Miss Kirkbright. "On the contrary, everything grand
and splendid,--in _type_,--you know. Horses are powers; men are made
to handle powers, and to use them; it is the very manliest instinct
of a man by which he loves them. Only, he is terribly mistaken if he
stops there,--playing with the signs. He might as well ride a
stick, or drive a chair with worsted reins, as the little ones do,
all his life."

Rodney's face lit straight up; but for a whole mile he made no
answer. Then he said, as people do after a silence,--

"How quiet we are, all at once! But you have a way of finishing up
things, Aunt Euphrasia. You said all I wanted in about fifty words,
just now. I begin to see. It may be just because I _might_ do
something, that I haven't. Aunt Euphrasia, I've done being a boy,
and playing with reins. I'm going to be a man, and do some real
driving. Do you know, I think I'd better not go to Europe with my
father?"

"I don't _know_ that," returned Miss Kirkbright. "It might be; but
it is a thing to consider seriously, before you give it up. You
ought to be quite sure what you stay for."

"I won't stay for any nonsense. I mean to talk with him to-night."

"Talk with yourself, first, Rod; find yourself out, and then talk it
all out honestly with him."

Which advice--the first clause of it--Rodney proceeded instantly to
follow; he did not say another word all the way over the Mill Dam
and up Beacon Hill, and Aunt Euphrasia let him blessedly alone; one
of the few women, as she was, capable of doing that great and
passive thing.

When he had left her at her door, and driven his horse to the livery
stable, he went round to his father's rooms and took tea with him.

The meal over, he pushed back his chair, saying, "I want a talk with
you, father. Can I have it now? I must be back at Cambridge by ten."

Mr. Sherrett looked in his son's face. There was nothing there of
uncomfortableness,--of conscious bracing up to a difficult matter.
He repressed his first instinctive inquiry of "No scrape, I hope,
Rod?" The question was asked and answered between their eyes.

"Certainly, my boy," he said, rising. "Step in there; the man will
be up presently to take away these things."

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