Dr. Gray never needed to be told more than half a story.
“Oh, I see! You’ve made an April Fool of yourself. Ha, ha! Mr. Lee is too sharp for you, is he? And so, Mary, you went with Fred?”
The doctor looked grave. It was not easy to let this pass. “Wait here, both of you, till I come back,” said he, driving into the stable.
“This is a great go,” thought Fred. “Hope the boys won’t hear of it.”
“Fred,” said Dr. Gray, returning,—and he spoke with displeasure,—“I am disappointed in you. And in you too, Mary.”
“Oh, papa,” wailed a little voice from under Mary’s hat. Her head was bowed, and her tears were falling.
“I was the one that thought of it; I was the one that asked her to go,” spoke up Fred, all the manliness in him stirred by his cousin’s tears.
“No doubt you were; and I’m glad to hear you acknowledge it,” said Dr. Gray, resting his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “But Mary knew better than to be led away by you. My daughter, jests of this sort may be tolerated in your own family or among your schoolmates; but do you think they are suitable to be played upon ministers?”
“No, sir,” sobbed Mary.
“Well, then, let this be a lesson to you.” This was a favorite speech with the doctor. “Kiss me, my child; and now run into the house. I shall never refer to this matter again, and it is not necessary to mention it to your mother. But Fred,” he added, as Mary swiftly escaped, “do you think your conduct has been gentlemanly and courteous? Ought you to have taken this liberty with a comparative stranger,—a person, too, of Mr. Lee’s high character?”