to go home again."

"Don't go; remember your promise," whispered Charlie's conscience. "But
I want to go so much," answered Charlie's selfish little heart.

"Don't go, it would be ungrateful: think of your father's kindness to
you," whispered the voice again. "I'm not ungrateful, and I mean to take
the clothes," Charlie's heart answered, angrily.

The voice began to whisper again, something about it being a temptation,
and he ought to ask God's help, but Charlie turned a deaf ear.

Tom Brown, seeing Charlie hesitate, felt pretty sure he would give in.
Leaving loose of his arm, and moving off towards the field, he said, in
a careless tone, "Come, make up your mind; do one thing or the other.
I don't care whether you go or not, only I can tell you you'll not have
such a chance again; Joe Denton would have jumped at it."

[Illustration: CHARLIE AND THE TEMPTATION.]

This had just the effect Tom intended. Charlie hurried after him,
saying, "Well, let us be quick then. I'll just stay five minutes; I
daresay there's time enough."

The scruples of Charlie's conscience were silenced. Conscience is a
dangerous thing to play with, and it should be the prayer of every youth
that God would strengthen him to keep his conscience tender; never mind
if it be difficult sometimes to maintain a good conscience: in the end,
as years go on, you will be thankful to find that it preserves from many
a snare, and gives a pleasure, and gains the confidence of those around
you.

The launching went off most successfully, but the time had flown much
quicker than the boys had any idea of. Charlie was in full enjoyment of
the honour of guiding the _Fairy_ on her trial trip round the pond, when
he was terribly startled at hearing the church clock strike five. In a
moment he had dropped the string, caught up his satchel of books, and
started off towards home.

"Here, I say, wait a bit," called Tom after him; "what's the use of
hurrying now? Your father would be at home long since; you may as well
stay another hour now." Charlie did not even stay to listen, but tore
along the dusty road, angry with himself, and still more angry with Tom.
He reached home out of breath, and found that his father and mother had
just begun tea.

"Charlie, my boy, you're late," said his father, in his usual kind tone.
His mother did not speak, and Charlie noticed that she looked sad; but
she was as kind as ever, and picked out one of his favourite little
well-bro