sigh. "He's far too like his father to do you
any good."

"Mother, would you have me give up an old playmate and school-fellow
because he is not perfect?" asked the youth in grave tones as he tied on
a sou'-wester.

"Well, no--not exactly, but--"

Not having a good reason ready, the worthy woman only smiled a
remonstrance. The stalwart son stooped, kissed her and was soon
outside, battling with the storm--for what he styled a breezy day was in
reality a wild and stormy one.

Long before the period we have now reached Mrs Brooke had changed her
residence to the sea-coast in the small town of Sealford. Her cottage
stood in the centre of the village, about half-a-mile from the shore,
and close to that of her bosom friend, Mrs Leather, who had migrated
along with her, partly to be near her and partly for the sake of her son
Shank, who was anxious to retain the companionship of his friend Brooke.
Partly, also, to get her tippling husband away from old comrades and
scenes, in the faint hope that she might rescue him from the great curse
of his life.

When Charlie went out, as we have said, he found that Shank had brought
his sister May with him. This troubled our hero a good deal, for he had
purposed having a confidential talk with his old comrade upon future
plans and prospects, to the accompaniment of the roaring sea, and a
third party was destructive of such intention. Besides, poor May,
although exceedingly unselfish and sweet and good, was at that
transition period of life when girlhood is least attractive--at least to
young men: when bones are obtrusive, and angles too conspicuous, and the
form generally is too suggestive of flatness and longitude; while
shyness marks the manners, and inexperience dwarfs the mind. We would
not, however, suggest for a moment that May was ugly. By no means, but
she had indeed reached what may be styled a plain period of life--a
period in which some girls become silently sheepish, and others
tomboyish; May was among the former, and therefore a drag upon
conversation. But, after all, it mattered little, for the rapidly
increasing gale rendered speech nearly impossible.

"It's too wild a day for you, May," said Brooke, as he shook hands with
her; "I wonder you care to be out."

"She _doesn't_ care to be out, but I wanted her to come, and she's a
good obliging girl, so she came," said Shank, drawing her arm through
his as they pressed forward against the blast in the directi