sels were soon out of hail, and that before the discovery of the
much puzzled Palmer's condition in his cabin.

The poor old man had to go to the Barbadoes, and come back again,
before a word of this event reached the ears of Mr. Faringfield. When
Palmer returned with his account of it, he brought word from Mr.
Culverson that, although Ned had indeed settled a gambling debt at the
pistol's point, and had indeed paid the passage of a woman and child
to England, his theft had been of less than a hundred pounds. Thus it
was made manifest that Ned had lied to Philip in order to play upon
his father's solicitude concerning the name of Faringfield for
integrity, and so get into his hands the means of embarking upon the
pleasures of the Old World. Very foolish did poor Philip look when he
learned how he had been duped. But Mr. Faringfield, I imagine,
consoled himself with the probability that New York had seen the last
of Mr. Edward.

I think 'twas to let Mr. Faringfield recover first from the feelings
of this occasion, that Philip postponed so long the announcement of
his intention to go to England. Thus far he had confided his plans to
me alone, and as a secret. But now he was past twenty-one years, and
his resolution could not much longer be deferred. Nevertheless, not
until the next June--that of 1774--did he screw up his courage to the
point of action.

"I shall tell him to-day," said Philip to me one Monday morning, as I
walked with him part of the way to the warehouses. "Pray heaven he
takes it not too ill."

I did not see Phil at dinner-time; but in the afternoon, a little
before his usual home-coming hour, he came seeking me, with a very
relieved and happy face; and found me trimming a grape-vine in our
back garden, near the palings that separated our ground from Mr.
Faringfield's. On the Faringfield side of the fence, at this place,
grew bushes of snowball and rose.

"How did he take it?" I asked, smiling to see Phil's eyes so bright.

"Oh, very well. He made no objection; said he had not the right to
make any in my case. But he looked so upset for a moment, so
deserted--I suppose he was thinking how his own son had failed him,
and that now his beneficiary was turning from him--that I wavered. But
at that he was the same haughty, immovable man as ever, and I
remembered that each of us must live his own life; and so 'tis
settled."

"Well," said I, with a little of envy at his prospect, and much of
sorrow at