re has been a great deal too much said about
kissing in the present chapter.

So the Prodigal came home, and the fatted calf was killed for him, and
he was made as happy as two simple women could make him. No allusions
were made to the Oxbridge mishap, or questions asked as to his farther
proceedings, for some time. But Pen debated these anxiously in his own
mind, and up in his own room, where he passed much time in cogitation.

A few days after he came home, he rode to Chatteris on his horse, and
came back on the top of the coach. He then informed his mother that he
had left the horse to be sold; and when that operation was effected, he
handed her over the cheque, which she, and possibly Pen himself,
thought was an act of uncommon virtue and self-denial, but which Laura
pronounced to be only strict justice.

He rarely mentioned the loan which she had made, and which, indeed,
had been accepted by the widow with certain modifications; but once or
twice, and with great hesitation and stammering, he alluded to it, and
thanked her; but it evidently pained his vanity to be beholden to the
orphan for succour. He was wild to find some means of repaying her.

He left off drinking wine, and betook himself, but with great
moderation, to the refreshment of whisky-and-water. He gave up
cigar-smoking; but it must be confessed that of late years he had liked
pipes and tobacco as well or even better, so that this sacrifice was not
a very severe one.

He fell asleep a great deal after dinner when he joined the ladies
in the drawing-room, and was certainly very moody and melancholy. He
watched the coaches with great interest, walked in to read the papers
at Clavering assiduously, dined with anybody who would ask him (and the
widow was glad that he should have any entertainment in their solitary
place), and played a good deal at cribbage with Captain Glanders.

He avoided Dr. Portman, who, in his turn, whenever Pen passed, gave him
very severe looks from under his shovel-hat. He went to church with his
mother, however, very regularly, and read prayers for her at home to the
little household. Always humble, it was greatly diminished now: a couple
of maids did the work of the house of Fairoaks: the silver dish-covers
never saw the light at all.

John put on his livery to go to church, and assert his dignity on
Sundays, but it was only for form's sake. He was gardener and out-door
man, vice Upton, resigned. There was but little fire