ster, who cried
out that he was being murdered, and keeping his cane for a trophy, thrust
him bodily into his house of learning, turned the great key upon him, and
so left him. He made his escape by a window and sought my grandfather in
the Duke of Marlboro' Street as fast as ever his indignant legs would
carry him.

Of his interview with Mr. Carvel I know nothing save that Scipio was
requested presently to show him the door, and conclude therefrom that his
language was but ill-chosen. Scipio's patrician blood was wont to rise
in the presence of those whom he deemed outside the pale of good society,
and I fear he ushered Mr. Fairbrother to the street with little of that
superior manner he used to the first families. As for Mr. Daaken, I feel
sure he was not ill-pleased at the discomfiture of his rival, though it
cost him five of his scholars.

Our schoolboy battle, though lightly undertaken, was fraught with no
inconsiderable consequences for me. I was duly chided and soundly
whipped by my grandfather for the part I had played; but he was inclined
to pass the matter after that, and set it down to the desire for fighting
common to most boyish natures. And he would have gone no farther than
this had it not been that Mr. Green, of the Maryland Gazette, could not
refrain from printing the story in his paper. That gentleman, being a
stout Whig, took great delight in pointing out that a grandson of Mr.
Carvel was a ringleader in the affair. The story was indeed laughable
enough, and many a barrister's wig nodded over it at the Coffee House
that day. When I came home from school I found Scipio beside my
grandfather's empty seat in the dining-room, and I learned that Mr.
Carvel was in the garden with my Uncle Grafton and the Reverend Bennett
Allen, rector of St. Anne's. I well knew that something out of the
common was in the wind to disturb my grandfather's dinner. Into the
garden I went, and under the black walnut tree I beheld Mr. Carvel pacing
up and down in great unrest, his Gazette in his hand, while on the bench
sat my uncle and the rector of St. Anne's. So occupied was each in his
own thought that my coming was unperceived; and I paused in my steps,
seized suddenly by an instinctive dread, I know not of what. The fear of
Mr. Carvel's displeasure passed from my mind so that I cared not how
soundly he thrashed me, and my heart filled with a yearning, born of the
instant, for that simple and brave old gentleman. For the la