"John, where art thee going ?" I knew this was the first warning-gun of a battle which broke out afresh every time John appeared in any livelier garb than his favourite grey, or was suspected of any more worldly associates than our quiet selves.

He always took my father's attacks patiently--this time peculiarly so.

He made no answer, but passed his hand once or twice over his brow, as if he could not see clearly.
Abel Fletcher repeated the question.
"Yes; that was Mrs.Jessop, sir." "I know," grumbled my father.

"The doctor is a fool in his old age.
Who did she want thee to meet ?" "She!--Oh, Lady Caroline, you mean ?" "Lady Caroline wishes particularly to see John." Abel Fletcher stopped, planted his stick in the ground, released his arm from John's, and eyed him from top to toe.
"Thee ?--a woman of quality wanting to see THEE?
Young man, thee art a hypocrite." "Sir!" "I knew it! I foresaw how thy fine ways would end! Going to London--crawling at the heels of grand folk--despising thy honest trade--trying to make thyself appear a gentleman!" "I hope I am a gentleman." Words could not describe my father's horrified astonishment.

"Oh, lad!" he cried; "poor, misguided lad!--the Lord have mercy upon thee!" John smiled--his mind evidently full of other things.