ege walls and at
the junction of two avenues of elms, between the trunks of which
shone the acres of a noble meadow, level and green. The avenues ran
at a right angle, east and south; the one old, with trees of
magnificent girth, the other new and interset with poplars.

Taffy stood irresolute. One of these avenues, he felt sure, must
lead to the river; but which?

Two old gentlemen stepped out from the wicket of the Meadow
Buildings, and passed him, talking together. The taller--a lean
man, with a stoop--was clearly a clergyman. The other wore cap and
gown, and Taffy remarked, as he went by, that his cap was of velvet;
and also that he walked with his arms crossed just above the wrists,
his right hand clutching his left cuff, and his left hand his right
cuff, his elbows hugged close to his sides.

After a few paces the clergyman paused, said something to his
companion, and the two turned back towards the boy.

"Were you wanting to know your way?"

"I was looking for the river," Taffy answered. He was thinking that
he had never in his life seen a face so full of goodness.

"Then this is your first visit to Oxford? Suppose, now, you come
with us? and we will take you by the river and tell you the names of
the barges. There is not much else to see, I'm afraid, in Vacation
time."

He glanced at his companion in the velvet cap, who drew down an
extraordinary bushy pair of eyebrows (yet he, too, had a beautiful
face) and seemed to come out of a dream.

"So much the better, boy, if you come up to Oxford to worship false
gods."

Taffy was taken aback.

"Eight false gods in little blue caps, seated in a trough and tugging
at eight poles; and all to discover if they can get from Putney to
Mortlake sooner than eight others in little blue caps of a lighter
shade. What do they _do_ at Mortlake when they get there in such a
hurry? Eh, boy?"

"I--I'm sure I don't know," stammered Taffy.

The clergyman broke out laughing, and turned to him. "Are you going
to tell us your name?"

"Raymond, sir. My father used to be at Christ Church."

"What? Are you Sam Raymond's son?"

"You knew my father?"

"A very little. I was his senior by a year or two. But I know
something about him." He turned to the other. "Let me introduce the
son of a man after your own heart--of a man fighting for God in the
wilds, and building an altar there with his own hands and by the lamp
of sacrifice."

"But how do you know al