"Herbert is not a bit of an old fogy!" said Frank, indignantly. "He is the best base-ball player and the best swimmer in the school, as some of us have reason to know. I wonder who it was, Ned, that went in just above the mill-dam and pulled you out when you fell off the foot-bridge? I wouldn't talk much about old fogies, if I were you!"
Edward colored and looked a good deal ashamed. "I didn't mean any harm," said he. "I only meant that he was a steady sort of fellow—a sort of fellow that one always knows where to have him!"
"I don't think any of us would object to be called old fogies, if that is the meaning of the name," said the squire, laughing. "The sort of fellow that one always knows where to have is the kind of fellow I like above all others. But come, doctor," he added, addressing himself to the clergyman, "I think it is your turn next after the old lady."
"Very well," replied the doctor. "I am quite willing to do my share towards entertaining the good company. What story would you like, young people?"
"About the times when you were young, please," said Herbert. "I love to hear such stories."
"Then I will relate to you some adventures of my young days, from which you may, perhaps, learn a useful lesson," replied the clergyman. "I will call my story:"
"THE RUNAWAY."
"My mother died when I was about ten years old, and about two years afterwards my father took for his second wife a lady who had always lived in our neighborhood, and who had been a great friend of my own dear mother's. I do not think upon reflection that I ever had the least cause of complaint against this lady, to whom I finally became much attached; but at the time I so bitterly resented her appearance in the family that I refused to give her the title of mother, kept myself and my little sister out of her way as much as possible, and, when Ella finally went over to the enemy, as I chose to say, almost refused to speak to the child. In short, I made myself as contrary as it is possible for a spoiled child of twelve years old to do."
"My new mother did her best to overcome my prejudices by kindness and gentleness, but I was proof against all her endearments; and my father, finding that I did not incline to behave myself properly at home, determined to send me to school, hoping that a few months of boarding-school life would teach me to appreciate the comforts of home. I believe my step-mother was rather doubtful of the wisdom of this step, though she finally gave way to my father's judgment; but I chose to attribute it all to her influence. However, to school I went, where a couple of months of Latin and Greek, brown sugar to my coffee, and salt butter to my bread, disgusted me to that degree that I made up my mind to run away."
"I determined, however, that I would not go home. I had brooded over my fancied wrongs till I had persuaded myself that a more abused and persecuted child did not exist and I was confirmed in this idea by certain possibly well-meaning but certainly very injudicious people among my own mother's relatives, who chose to bestow a vast deal of pity upon me because I was so unfortunate as to have a step-mother."