he flavor of a fatted calf is
absolutely unknown to me; and so far from meeting me half-way, I have in
extreme cases, when impelled homeward by urgent pecuniary
considerations, found myself obliged to walk up from the station."

"Dear me! I hope it is not far," I said.

"A mere matter of three miles or so uphill," he resumed; "nothing to a
healthy Christian, though trying to the trembling legs of the ungodly
after a long course of husks. There, now I think you are quite _au fait_
as to our family history. I always pity a stranger who comes to a house
ignorant of little domestic details of this kind; he is apt to make
mistakes." "Oh, pray don't mention it,"--as I murmured some words of
thanks--"no trouble, I assure you; trouble is a thing I don't take.
By-the-way, are you aware we are going straight into a nest of private
theatricals at Stoke Moreton? To-night is the last rehearsal; perhaps I
had better look over my part. I took it once years ago, but I don't
remember a word of it." And after much rummaging in a magnificent
silver-mounted travelling-bag, the Prodigal pulled out a paper book and
carelessly turned over the leaves.

I did not interrupt his studies, save by a few passing comments on the
weather, the state of the country, and my own health, which, I am sorry
to say, is not what it was; but as I only received monosyllabic answers,
we had no more conversation worth mentioning till we reached Stoke
Moreton.

CHAPTER V.

Stoke Moreton is a fine old Elizabethan house standing on rising ground.
As we drove up the straight wide approach between two rows of ancient
fantastically clipped hollies, I was impressed by the stately dignity of
the place, which was not lessened as we drew up before a great arched
door-way, and were ushered into a long hall supported by massive pillars
of carved white stone. A roaring log-fire in the immense fireplace threw
a ruddy glow over the long array of armor and gleaming weapons which
lined the walls, and made the pale winter twilight outside look bleak
indeed. Charles, emerging slim and graceful out of an exquisite ulster,
sauntered up to the fire, and asked where Sir George Danvers was. As he
stood inside the wide fireplace, leaning against one of the pillars
which supported the towering white stone chimney-piece, covered with
heraldic designs and coats of arms, he looked a worthier representative
of an ancient race than I fear he really was.

"So they have put the sta