“Silence, sir!” cried his father, flushing; “these are not matters for your idle jests. I acknowledge that, for your poor mother’s sake, I have given way, and been weak and indulgent to the boy she, poor invalid, has ever worshipped; but the time has come now for me to make a stand, ere worse befall our house.”
“Why, father, what do you mean?”
“This, my son,” cried the old clergyman, sternly. “You left home two years ago, wild and fighting against restraint. You have come back now rougher in your ways—”
“No wonder. You should have led such a life as I have amongst sheep farmers and roughs, and you wouldn’t wonder at my ways.”
“And far less amenable to discipline.”
“Why, what do you want, father?” cried the young man, impatiently.
“Strict obedience in all things, but more especially in those where any lapse might reflect upon my conduct as the clergyman of this parish.”
“Why, of course, father—what do you suppose a fellow is going to do?”
“Do you think I’m blind, Cyril?” said his father, sternly.
“Not I, father. Why do you ask?”