ger as he
described had been landed--no one by that name. The Bishop, leaning
upon the worn counter in the dingy shipping office, scrutinised the
passenger list carefully. There was a name there, certainly, that
suggested his nephew's, but with two or three wrong letters. Not
enough for a positive identification, but perhaps done purposely, as a
disguise. Could the youth have deliberately done this? It was
possible. When pressed for a description, the Bishop was most hazy. He
could only say that he was searching for a young man, about twenty.
The agent told him that twenty young men, about twenty, had come
ashore. The Bishop was not quite satisfied, was vaguely uneasy, but
there was nothing to be done. However, when the day passed and no
nephew appeared, he drew a long breath of relief. He was safe for
another week. Had a week before him in which to formulate his plans.
And he would formulate them too, he promised himself, and would put
the responsibility of this irresponsible young creature back upon the
shoulders where it belonged. It was a great temptation not to return
to the shipping office again and engage a berth on the next homeward
bound liner, but on second thought, he determined not to do so. Above
all things he prided himself on being just and liberal. He would give
his nephew a week's trial in the Colony, after which the letter
returning him to his father would bear the air of resigned but
seasoned judgment, rather than the unreasoning impulse of a moment's
irritation. A week's guardianship, and--well, so it should be. Nothing
longer, no greater incursion into his smooth, harmonious existence.

The week of anticipation passed slowly. After the first shock was
over, after the first sense of imposition had passed away, and he
found himself with a week for consideration, he became more decided
than ever on his course of action. Mentally, he began many letters to
his brother, usually beginning, "I regret exceedingly," from which
beginning he launched out into well balanced, well phrased excuses, of
admirable logic, by means of which he proved the imperative necessity
of finding other anchorage for this stray and apparently very frail
bark. Of necessity these letters were vague, since he did not know
what particular form of frailty he had to contend with. Of one thing,
however, he was sure--the Colony offered opportunities for the
indulgence of every form known to man, with none of those nice
restrictions which