and
even the great Luther was strangely wanting in principle when young."

"It is my duty; I suppose I must go through with it," says poor Miss
Priscilla, sighing; and then she throws wide the window and calls to
Terence to come to her.

"Where have you been, Terence?"

"At the back gate, aunt."

"But, my _dear_ Terence, _why_ at the back gate? Such a nice day for a
good long wholesome walk! Why spend it at the back gate?"

"Because--that is--I----"

"My dear boy, be calm. Wait a moment now, Terence, and don't hurry
yourself. There is no occasion for haste."

"I was only going to say, aunt----"

"Pause now, Terence: consider well before you speak. Though, indeed,
there should be no need for consideration when only the simple but
lovely truth is required. Truth is always lovely, Terence; it is a
flower of great beauty. Collect yourself, now." (This is a favorite
formula with the Misses Blake.) "Don't tell a lie, Terence!"

"Why should I tell a lie?" says Terence, fiercely, feeling at this
moment that death, when compared with nagging, would be sweet.

"Oh, Terence, what a tone! and to your good aunt Penelope, who loves
you! Such a tone as that, my dear, is unchristian. Now, we don't want to
know what you were _doing_ at the back gate. Why should you be afraid of
us? Are we not your greatest friends? But what could you have been doing
for half an hour at the back gate, Terence?"

"I went up there with Michael, aunt."

"I didn't ask you that, dear. I am afraid you have no confidence in us,
Terence. I didn't ask you who went with you. Can't you say yes or no,
Terence? Were you _long_ at the gate?"

"No, aunt."

"Was any one but Michael with you?"

"Yes, aunt."

"Was it Adams?"

"No, aunt."

"Can't you say anything but yes or no, Terence? Have you no command of
the Queen's English, after all the money, too, your poor father wasted
on your education,--and now the rector? Speak up, my dear child, and
tell us everything honestly and nobly."

"But there is nothing to tell, aunt, except that----"

"No, collect yourself, Terence; take time, my dear. _Now_, answer me:
who was with you, besides Michael?"

"Timothy, aunt."

The hoary-headed butler being, like Caesar's wife, above suspicion, the
Misses Blake are pulled up pretty short,--so short, indeed, that they
forget to ask if any one besides the respectable Timothy was at the
obnoxious back gate. Perhaps had they known that the smith's son, and
two