d him to
ask the time of day. But permit me to say, friend Desmond, you appear
somewhat downcast; your countenance hath not that serenity one looks for
in a lad of your years. What is the trouble?"

"Oh, nothing to speak of," said Desmond curtly; he was vexed that his
face still betrayed the irritation of the morning.

"Very well," said Diggle with a shrug. "Far be it from me to probe your
sorrows. They are nothing to me, but sure a simple question from a
friend--"

"Pardon me, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond impulsively, "I did not mean to
offend you."

"My dear boy, a tough-hided traveler does not easily take offense. Shall
we walk? D'you know, Master Desmond, I fancy I could make a shrewd guess
at your trouble. Your brother--Richard, I think you said?--is a farmer,
he was born a farmer, he has the air of a farmer, and a well-doing farmer
to boot. But we are not all born with a love for mother earth, and you,
meseems, have dreamed of a larger life than lies within the pin folds of
a farm. To tell the truth, my lad, I have been studying you."

They were walking now side by side along the Newport road. Desmond felt
that the stranger was becoming personal; but his manner was so suave and
sympathetic that he could not take offense.

"Yes, I have been studying you," continued Diggle. "And what is the sum
of my discovery? You are wasting your life here. A country village is no
place for a boy of ideas and imagination, of warm blood and springing
fancy. The world is wide, my friend: why not adventure forth?"

"I have indeed thought of it, Mr. Diggle, but--"

"But me no buts," interrupted Diggle, with a smile. "Your age is--"

"Near sixteen."

"Ah, still a boy; you have a year ere you reach the bourne of young
manhood, as the Romans held it. But what matters that? Was not Scipio
Africanus--namesake of the ingenuous youth that serves me--styled boy at
twenty? Yet you are old enough to walk alone, and not in leading
strings--or waiting maybe for dead men's shoes."

"What do you mean, sir?" Desmond flashed out, reddening with indignation.

"Do I offend you?" said Diggle innocently. "I make apology. But I had
heard, I own, that Master Desmond Burke was in high favor with your
squire; 'tis even whispered that Master Desmond cherishes, cultivates,
cossets the old man--a bachelor, I understand, and wealthy, and lacking
kith or kin. Sure I should never have believed 'twas with any
dishonorable motive."

"'Tis not,