, who knew that there had been a half-dozen rockers in the
burned rectory.

John sat on the steps and listened to the shrill katydids or watched the
devious lanterns of the fireflies. A bat darted over the head of Rivers,
who ducked as it went by, watching its uncertain flight.

"I am terribly afraid of bats," said the rector. "Are you?"

"I--no. They're harmless."

"Yes, I know that, but I am without reason afraid of them. I think of the
demons as being like monstrous bats. But that is a silly use of
imagination."

"Uncle Jim doesn't like them, and you once told me that he had very
little imagination."

"Yes. One can't explain these dislikes. Your uncle reasons well and has a
clear logical mind, but he has neither creative nor receptive
imagination."

"Receptive?" asked John.

"Yes, that is why he has none of your aunt's joy in poetry. When I read
to her Wordsworth's 'Brougham Castle,' he said that he had never heard
more silly nonsense."

"I remember it was that wonderful verse about the 'longing of the
shield.'"

"Yes--I forgot you were there. Verse like that is a good test of a
person's capacity to feel poetry--that kind, I mean."

"I hear Uncle Jim's horse."

"Yes. I can't see, John, why a man should want to have a horse sent to
meet him instead of a comfortable wagon,"--and for emphasis, as usual
with Rivers, the rocking-chair was swinging to the limits of its arc of
safe motion.

The Squire dismounted and came up the steps with "Good-evening,
Rivers,"--and to John, "I have good news for you--but order my supper
at once, then we will talk." He was in his boyish mood of gaiety. "How
far have you travelled on that rocker, Rivers?"

"Now, Squire--now, really--" It was a favourite subject of chaff.

"Why not have rocking-chairs in church, Mark? Think what a patient
congregation you would have! Come, John, I am hungry." He fled laughing.

While the Squire ate in silence, John waited until his uncle said, "Come
into the library." Here he filled his pipe and took the match John
offered. "There are many curious varieties of man, John. There is the man
who prefers a rocking-chair to the saddle. It's queer--very queer; and he
is as much afraid of a horse as I am--of--I don't know what."

The Squire's memory failed to answer the call. "What are you grinning at,
you young scamp?"

"Oh, Mr. Rivers did say, Uncle Jim, something about bats."

"Yes, that's it--bats--and I do suppose every one has his espe