ccupy a
subordinate position, squire only in name. It was all very well
when his father lived--that was right and natural enough--but to
see his mother ruling, and himself submitting to her rule!--that
was a thing he had not bargained for. He felt as though he would be
the laughing-stock of all his friends.

The father saw the look upon his face, and it pained him.

"You do not like the arrangement, Tom; and yet I know it is the
best which can be made."

"Oh yes, in a way. I see what you mean. I don't understand scraping
and paring myself; yet, of course, it will be best to get the
mortgage paid off once and for all. I can see that well enough. But
I confess it will be poor fun living at Gablehurst as a little boy
tied to his mother's apron strings. I would rather go away
altogether, and see the world for myself."

"Well, Tom," answered the father in the same low, even tones, "your
mother and I have sometimes asked ourselves seriously whether you
might not do better away from home; whether it might not be the
best thing we could do for you to sever you from your present
companions, and see if you could not find better ones elsewhere."

"I have no fault to find with my friends," said Tom quickly.

"No, my son, I fear not. But we have much to complain of."

"I don't see what!" cried young Tom rather hotly.

"That is the worst of it. Did you see greater harm, our anxieties
would be less. But what are we to think of these cruel sports in
which you indulge, these scenes of vice and drunkenness where you
are constantly found? Even the Sabbath is not sacred to you. What
is this story we hear of you--that no girl may even go to church
without paying 'Tom Tufton's toll' at the lych gate?"

Tom broke into a sudden laugh.

"They like that toll well enough, father, I can tell you; else they
could go round the other way. Why, you yourself salute the farmers'
little wenches on the cheek sometimes--I have seen you do it; and
why not I the older ones?"

The Squire looked at his son with mournful intensity of gaze.

"Tom, Tom, I think sometimes that thou dost err more from
thoughtlessness than from wickedness; but, my son, thoughtlessness,
if carried to excess, may become wickedness, and may breed vice. I
verily believe that in half thy pranks thou dost mean no great
harm; but thou art growing to man's estate, Tom. It is time that
thou didst put away childish things. What is pardoned to youth, may
not so easily be pardon