CHAPTER II.
A BACHELOR'S LUNCH.
HE bells were ringing for Sunday Morning Prayer at Wilbourne Church, and the congregation was pouring in at the large west door, and the choir boys taking the little path towards the vestry, when Mr. Yorke, the tall curate, opened the small side gate, which was his nearest entrance to the churchyard.
He was passing quickly along, when he caught sight of a boy leaning over the paling a little beyond the gate, in rather a disconsolate attitude; and first he paused for a minute, and then struck across the grass and laid his hand kindly on the boy's shoulder.
'Come in with me, Cecil,' he said in his most cheery tone—knowing that the lad usually formed one of the choir when at home, and thinking that his ill success at school had made him shy of facing the other choristers, who probably knew all about it by this time.
'No, I mustn't,' said Cecil, turning round abruptly and colouring very much.
Mr. Yorke was surprised, and showed it. Knowing that Cecil's general conduct at school had been very good, he had not thought that exclusion from the choir would have formed part of his punishment.
'It's not because of that,' said the boy, reading his thoughts in his open, kindly face, 'at least not of that alone; it's because I don't say I'm sorry, and behave as I'm expected to behave. But oh, if father knew——'