e culprit, coupled with his father's frank and kindly
tone of avowal, that it had been a foolish improper frolic, and that he
had been much displeased with him for it.

"Say no more--pray, say no more, Dr. May. We all know how to overlook a
sailor's frolic, and, I am sure, Master Harry's present behaviour; but
you'll take a bit of luncheon," and, as something was said of going home
to the early dinner, "I am sure you will wait one minute. Master Harry
must have a piece of my cake, and allow me to drink to his success."

Poor Mr. May! to be called Master Harry, and treated to sweet cake! But
he saw his father thought he ought to endure, and he even said, "Thank
you."

The cake stuck in his throat, however, when Mrs. Anderson and her
daughters opened their full course of praise on their dear Harvey and
dearest Edward, telling all the flattering things Dr. Hoxton had said of
the order into which Harvey had brought the school, and insisting on Dr.
May's reading the copy of the testimonial that he had carried to Oxford.
"I knew you would be kind enough to rejoice," said Mrs. Anderson, "and
that you would have no--no feeling about Mr. Norman; for, of course, at
his age, a little matter is nothing, and it must be better for the dear
boy himself to be a little while under a friend like Harvey, than to
have authority while so young."

"I believe it has done him no harm," was all that the doctor could
bring himself to say; and thinking that he and his son had endured quite
enough, he took his leave as soon as Harry had convulsively bolted the
last mouthful.

Not a word was spoken all the way home. Harry's own trouble had
overpowered even this subject of resentment. On Sunday, the notice
of the Confirmation was read. It was to take place on the following
Thursday, and all those who had already given in their names were to
come to Mr. Ramsden to apply for their tickets. While this was read,
large tear-drops were silently falling on poor Harry's book.

Ethel and Norman walked together in the twilight, in deep lamentation
over their brother's deprivation, which seemed especially to humble
them; "for," said Norman, "I am sure no one can be more resolved on
doing right than July, and he has got through school better than I did."

"Yes," said Ethel; "if we don't get into his sort of scrape, it is only
that we are older, not better. I am sure mine are worse, my letting
Aubrey be nearly burned--my neglects."

"Papa must be doing