hed restlessly between the tan-pits.
I went to the end of the yard, and looked down towards the mill. What
a half-hour it was!

At last, exhausted, I sat down on the bark heap where John and I had
once sat as lads. He must now be more than twenty; I wondered if he
were altered.

"Oh, David! David!" I thought, as I listened eagerly for any sounds
abroad in the town; "what should I do if any harm came to thee?"

This minute I heard a footstep crossing the yard. No, it was not my
father's--it was firmer, quicker, younger. I sprang from the barkheap.

"Phineas!"

"John!"

What a grasp that was--both hands! and how fondly and proudly I looked
up in his face--the still boyish face. But the figure was quite that
of a man now.

For a minute we forgot ourselves in our joy, and then he let go my
hands, saying hurriedly--

"Where is your father?"

"I wish I knew!--Gone for the soldiers, they say."

"No, not that--he would never do that. I must go and look for him.
Good-bye."

"Nay, dear John!"

"Can't--can't," said he, firmly, "not while your father forbids. I
must go." And he was gone.

Though my heart rebelled, my conscience defended him; marvelling how it
was that he who had never known his father should uphold so sternly the
duty of filial obedience. I think it ought to act as a solemn warning
to those who exact so much from the mere fact and name of parenthood,
without having in any way fulfilled its duties, that orphans from birth
often revere the ideal of that bond far more than those who have known
it in reality. Always excepting those children to whose blessed lot it
has fallen to have the ideal realized.

In a few minutes I saw him and my father enter the tan-yard together.
He was talking earnestly, and my father was listening--ay,
listening--and to John Halifax! But whatever the argument was, it
failed to move him. Greatly troubled, but staunch as a rock, my old
father stood, resting his lame foot on a heap of hides. I went to meet
him.

"Phineas," said John, anxiously, "come and help me. No, Abel
Fletcher," he added, rather proudly, in reply to a sharp, suspicious
glance at us both; "your son and I only met ten minutes ago, and have
scarcely exchanged a word. But we cannot waste time over that matter
now. Phineas, help me to persuade your father to save his property. He
will not call for the aid of the law, because he is a Friend. Besides,
for the same reason, it might be useless a