ays of falsehood" before he reached it. The melancholy fact was not
long in coming out, namely, that the wretched Ernest added debt to the
vices of idleness, falsehood and possibly--for it was not
impossible--immorality.

How had he come to get into debt? Did the other boys do so? Ernest
reluctantly admitted that they did.

With what shops did they get into debt?

This was asking too much, Ernest said he didn't know!

"Oh, Ernest, Ernest," exclaimed his mother, who was in the room, "do not
so soon a second time presume upon the forbearance of the
tenderest-hearted father in the world. Give time for one stab to heal
before you wound him with another."

This was all very fine, but what was Ernest to do? How could he get the
school shop-keepers into trouble by owning that they let some of the boys
go on tick with them? There was Mrs Cross, a good old soul, who used to
sell hot rolls and butter for breakfast, or eggs and toast, or it might
be the quarter of a fowl with bread sauce and mashed potatoes for which
she would charge 6d. If she made a farthing out of the sixpence it was
as much as she did. When the boys would come trooping into her shop
after "the hounds" how often had not Ernest heard her say to her servant
girls, "Now then, you wanches, git some cheers." All the boys were fond
of her, and was he, Ernest, to tell tales about her? It was horrible.

"Now look here, Ernest," said his father with his blackest scowl, "I am
going to put a stop to this nonsense once for all. Either take me fully
into your confidence, as a son should take a father, and trust me to deal
with this matter as a clergyman and a man of the world--or understand
distinctly that I shall take the whole story to Dr Skinner, who, I
imagine, will take much sterner measures than I should."

"Oh, Ernest, Ernest," sobbed Christina, "be wise in time, and trust those
who have already shown you that they know but too well how to be
forbearing."

No genuine hero of romance should have hesitated for a moment. Nothing
should have cajoled or frightened him into telling tales out of school.
Ernest thought of his ideal boys: they, he well knew, would have let
their tongues be cut out of them before information could have been wrung
from any word of theirs. But Ernest was not an ideal boy, and he was not
strong enough for his surroundings; I doubt how far any boy could
withstand the moral pressure which was brought to bear upon him; at any
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