er, stronger handed, more
determined discipline shall prevail. I find Mr. and Mrs. Schofield and
their daughter charming----"

Three or four ladies said "Oh!" and spoke a name simultaneously. It was
as if they had said, "Oh, the bubonic plague!"

"Oh! Penrod Schofield!"

"Georgie does not play with him," said Mrs. Bassett quickly--"that
is, he avoids him as much as he can without hurting Penrod's feelings.
Georgie is very sensitive to giving pain. I suppose a mother should not
tell these things, and I know people who talk about their own children
are dreadful bores, but it was only last Thursday night that Georgie
looked up in my face so sweetly, after he had said his prayers and his
little cheeks flushed, as he said: 'Mamma, I think it would be right for
me to go more with Penrod. I think it would make him a better boy.'"

A sibilance went about the room. "Sweet! How sweet! The sweet little
soul! Ah, SWEET!"

"And that very afternoon," continued Mrs. Bassett, "he had come home in
a dreadful state. Penrod had thrown tar all over him."

"Your son has a forgiving spirit!" said Mr. Kinosling with vehemence. "A
too forgiving spirit, perhaps." He set down his glass. "No more, I thank
you. No more cake, I thank you. Was it not Cardinal Newman who said----"

He was interrupted by the sounds of an altercation just outside the
closed blinds of the window nearest him.

"Let him pick his tree!" It was the voice of Samuel Williams. "Didn't we
come over here to give him one of his own trees? Give him a fair show,
can't you?"

"The little lads!" Mr. Kinosling smiled. "They have their games, their
outdoor sports, their pastimes. The young muscles are toughening. The
sun will not harm them. They grow; they expand; they learn. They learn
fair play, honour, courtesy, from one another, as pebbles grow round
in the brook. They learn more from themselves than from us. They take
shape, form, outline. Let them."

"Mr. Kinosling!" Another spinster--undeterred by what had happened
to Miss Beam--leaned fair forward, her face shining and ardent. "Mr.
Kinosling, there's a question I DO wish to ask you."

"My dear Miss Cosslit," Mr. Kinosling responded, again waving his hand
and watching it, "I am entirely at your disposal."

"WAS Joan of Arc," she asked fervently, "inspired by spirits?"

He smiled indulgently. "Yes--and no," he said. "One must give both
answers. One must give the answer, yes; one must give the answer, no."

"Oh, T