."

"None of your cant," cried one.

"Well, I propose that we go to sleep, and then we shan't hear what
he says," said Meredith. "They talk of his not having pluck enough
to speak, but he can do it when he pleases," he remarked in a low
tone to his next companion, Frank Digby, who rejoined,

"More shame for him, the little hypocrite. I like real religious
people, but I can't bear cant."

What Frank's idea of real religion was, may be rather a difficult
matter to settle. Probably it was an obscure idea to himself,--an
idea of certain sentiment and no vitality.

CHAPTER VII.

The next Saturday afternoon proving unusually fine, the community at
Ashfield House sallied forth to enjoy their half-holiday on the downs.
A few of the seniors had received permission to pay a visit to Bristol,
and not a small party was arranged for a good game of cricket. Among
the latter was Reginald Mortimer, whose strong arm and swift foot were
deemed almost indispensable on such occasions. As he rushed out of the
playground gates, bat in hand, accompanied by Meredith, he overtook his
brother, who had discovered a poem unknown to him in _Coleridge's Ancient
Mariner_, and was anticipating a pleasant mental feast in its perusal.

"Louis, you lazy fellow," cried Reginald, good-temperedly, "you shan't
read this fine afternoon--come, join us."

"I don't play cricket, I have not learned," replied Louis.

"And you never will," rejoined Reginald, "if you don't make a beginning:
I'll teach you--now put away that stupid book."

"_Stupid!_" said Louis. "It's Coleridge, that mamma promised to read
to us."

"I hate poetry," exclaimed Reginald; "I wonder how anybody can read such
stuff. Give me the book, Louis, and come along."

"No, thank you, I'd rather not."

"What a donkey you are!" said Meredith: "why don't you learn?"

"Perhaps my reputation may be the safer for not divulging my reasons,"
said Louis, archly: "it is sufficient for present purposes that I had
rather not."

"_Rather not_--_rather not_," echoed Meredith: "like one of your
sensible reasons."

"He has refused to give them, so you cannot call that his reason,
Meredith," remarked Reginald; "but let us be off, as Louis won't come."

Away they ran, and after looking at them for a minute, Louis turned
off his own way, but it was destined that he should not read the
_Ancient Mariner_ that day, for he was presently interrupted by
little Alfred Hamilton, who pounced upon