ither Mercy or his accounts," said Mr. James to his father.

"His accounts--are sure to be all right," said the old gentleman. "Try
him on the little lady."

So the next day, to Jamie, Mr. James, just as his mouth was open
about the last shipment from Bordeaux:--

"Well, what is it, Jamie? Something about Miss Mercedes?"

"It's na aboot the lassie, but I'm thinkin' young Master Harleston is
aye coming to tha hoose abune his needs," said Jamie, taken off his
guard, in broadest Scotch. And he mopped his face; the conflict
between love and loyalty had been exhausting.

"Harley Bowdoin? Dear me!" cried Mr. James. "How far has it gone?"

"It canna go too far for the gude o' the young man," said Jamie
testily. "But I was bound to tell ye, and I ha' done so."

"Does he go to your house,--Salem Street?"

Jamie nodded. "He's aye there tha Fridays."

"Dancing-class nights," muttered Mr. James. Then he remembered that
Abby, his wife, had spoken of their nephew's absence. He was studying
so hard, it had been said. "Thank you, Jamie. I'll see to it. Thank
you very much, Jamie."

Jamie turned to go.

"Has Miss Mercy--has Miss McMurtagh encouraged him?"

Jamie turned back angrily. "She'll forbid the lad tha hoose, an ye say
so."

Mr. James seized his hat and fled precipitately, leaving Jamie
glowering at the grate. On his way up the street he met his father,
and took him into the old Ship tavern to have a glass of flip; and
then he told the story.

Mr. Bowdoin took his hat off to rub his forehead with his old
bandanna, thereby setting fluttering a pair of twenty-thousand-dollar
notes he had just discounted. "Dear me! I'll tell Harley not to go
there any more. Poor old Jamie!"

"Better ship the rascal to Bordeaux," said Mr. James, picking up the
notes.

"And have him lose his course in college?"

"What good did that do us? We were rusticated most of the time, as he
has just been"--

"Speak for yourself, young man!" cried Mr. Bowdoin.

"Haven't I a copy of the verses you addressed to Miss Sally White when
you were rusticated under Parson White at Clapboardtrees?"

An allusion to Miss White always tickled the old gentleman; and father
and son parted in high good humor. Only, Mr. James thought wise to
inform Mrs. Harleston Bowdoin of what had happened. And some days
after, Mr. James, coming to the office, found fair Miss Mercedes in
full possession. The old gentleman was visibly embarrassed. The lady
was quite a