ore gently kind, and was
there not some better mode of approaching this man? Was he not a spirit
in prison, as St. Peter said? What right had he with his beliefs to
despair of any human soul? Then he dismissed the matter and went home to
his uncompleted sermon. He would have to tell the Squire; yes, that would
be advisable.

The days at Grey Pine ran on in the routine of lessons, riding, and
the pleasure for John of representing his uncle in the oversight of the
young thoroughbred colts and the stables. Brief talks with Rivers of
books and politics filled the after-dinner hour, and when he left John
fell with eagerness on the newspapers of the day. His uncle's mail he
forwarded to Pittsburgh, and heard from him that he would not return
until mid-October. His aunt would be at home about the 8th, and Leila
was now at her school. The boy felt the unaccustomed loneliness, and most
of all the absence of Leila. One letter for his aunt lay on the hall
table. It came too late to be sent on its way, nor had she asked to have
letters forwarded.

Two days before her return was to be expected, when John came down
dressed for dinner, he found Mr. Rivers standing with his back to a fire,
which the evening coolness of October in the hills made desirable. The
rector was smiling.

"Mr. George Grey came just after you went upstairs. It seems that he
wrote to your aunt the letter on the table in the hall. As no one met him
at Westways Crossing, he was caught in a shower and pretty well soaked
before he got some one to bring him to Grey Pine. I think he feels rather
neglected."

"Has he never been here before?" asked John, curious in regard to the
guest who he thought, from hearing his aunt speak of him, must be a
person of importance.

"No, not for a long while. He is only a second cousin of Mrs. Penhallow;
but as all Greys are for her--well, _the_ Greys--we must do our best to
make it pleasant for him until your aunt and uncle return."

"Of course," said John, with some faint feeling that it was needless to
remind him, his uncle's representative, of his duties as the host. Rivers
said, smiling, "It may not be easy to amuse Mr. Grey. I did not tell you
that your aunt wrote me, she will not be here until the afternoon train
on the 9th. Ah! here is Mr. Grey."

John was aware of a neatly built, slight man in middle life, clad in a
suit of dark grey. He came down the stairs in a leisurely way. "Not much
of a Grey!" thought Rivers, as