open at the throat, and bared heads.
They were indeed a contrast. Mr. Riddle, tall and white, with closed
lips, glared at his opponent. Mr. Darnley cut a merrier figure,--rotund
and flushed, with fat calves and short arms, though his countenance was
sober enough. All at once the two were circling their swords in the air,
and then Nick had flung open the shutter and leaped through the window,
and was running and shouting towards the astonished gentlemen, all of
whom wheeled to face him. He jingled as he ran.

"What in the devil's name now?" cried Mr. Riddle, angrily. "Here's this
imp again."

Nicholas stopped in front of him, and, thrusting his hand in his breeches
pocket, fished out a handful of gold and silver, which he held out to the
confounded Mr. Riddle.

"Harry," said he, "here's something of yours I found last night."

"You found?" echoed Mr. Riddle, in a strange voice, amidst a dead
silence. "You found where?"

"On the table beside you."

"And where the deuce were you?" Mr. Riddle demanded.

"In the window behind you," said Nick, calmly.

This piece of information, to Mr. Riddle's plain discomfiture, was
greeted with a roar of laughter, Mr. Darnley himself laughing loudest.
Nor were these gentlemen satisfied with that. They crowded around Mr.
Riddle and slapped him on the back, Mr. Darnley joining in with the rest.
And presently Mr. Riddle flung away his sword, and laughed, too, giving
his hand to Mr. Darnley.

At length Mr. Darnley turned to Nick, who had stood all this while behind
them, unmoved.

"My friend," said he, seriously, "such is your regard for human life, you
will probably one day--be a pirate or an outlaw. This time we've had a
laugh. The next time somebody will be weeping. I wish I were your
father."

"I wish you were," said Nick.

This took Mr. Darnley's breath. He glanced at the other gentlemen, who
returned his look significantly. He laid his hand kindly on the lad's
head.

"Nick," said he, "I wish to God I were your father."

After that they all went home, very merry, to breakfast, Nick and I
coming after them. Nick was silent until we reached the house.

"Davy," said he, then, "how old are you?"

"Ten," I answered. "How old did you believe me?"

"Eighty," said he.

The next day, being Sunday, we all gathered in the little church to hear
Mr. Mason preach. Nick and I sat in the high box pew of the family with
Mrs. Temple, who paid not the least attention to the sermon. A