poet, may we cry with the disbelieving philosopher, 'Poor, poor
humanity!'"

In a few minutes Mrs. Avenel returned. She took a chair at some distance
from the parson's, and resting one hand on the elbow of the chair, while
with the other she stiffly smoothed the stiff gown, she said,--

"Now, sir."

That "Now, sir," had in its sound something sinister and warlike. This
the shrewd parson recognized with his usual tact. He edged his chair
nearer to Mrs. Avenel, and placing his hand on hers,--

"Yes, now then, and as friend to friend."

CHAPTER XIII.

Mr. Dale had been more than a quarter of an hour conversing with Mrs.
Avenel, and had seemingly made little progress in the object of his
diplomatic mission, for now, slowly drawing on his gloves, he said,--

"I grieve to think, Mrs. Avenel, that you should have so hardened
your heart--yes, you must pardon me,--it is my vocation to speak stern
truths. You cannot say that I have not kept faith with you, but I must
now invite you to remember that I specially reserved to myself the
right of exercising a discretion to act as I judged best for the child's
interest on any future occasion; and it was upon this understanding that
you gave me the promise, which you would now evade, of providing for him
when he came to manhood."

"I say I will provide for him. I say that you may 'prentice him in any
distant town, and by and by we will stock a shop for him. What would
you have more, sir, from folks like us, who have kept shop ourselves? It
ain't reasonable what you ask, sir."

"My dear friend," said the parson, "what I ask of you at present is but
to see him, to receive him kindly, to listen to his conversation,
to judge for yourselves. We can have but a common object,--that your
grandson should succeed in life, and do you credit. Now, I doubt very
much whether we can effect this by making him a small shopkeeper."

"And has Jane Fairfield, who married a common carpenter, brought him up
to despise small shopkeepers?" exclaimed Mrs. Avenel, angrily.

"Heaven forbid! Some of the first men in England have been the sons of
small shopkeepers. But is it a crime in them, or in their parents,
if their talents have lifted them into such rank or renown as the
haughtiest duke might envy? England were not England if a man must rest
where his father began."

"Good!" said, or rather grunted, an approving voice, but neither Mrs.
Avenel nor the parson heard it.

"All very fine," sa