cts of this age to discover--that as we were boys, a Christian
principle and a Christian standard were above our comprehension, and
alien from our possible attainments; we did not believe then, nor will I
now, that a clear river is likely to flow from a polluted stream, or a
good tree grow from bitter fibres and cankered roots.

Walter and the others spent a very happy evening with Mr Percival.
When tea was over they talked as freely with him, and with each other in
his presence, as they would have done among themselves; and the
occasional society of their elders and superiors was in every way good
for them. It enlarged their sympathies, widened their knowledge, and
raised their moral tone.

Among many other subjects that evening they talked over one which never
fails to interest deeply every right-minded boy--I mean their homes. It
was no wonder that, as Walter talked of the glories of Semlyn lake and
its surrounding hills, his face lighted up, and his eyes shone with
pleasant memories. Mr Percival, as he looked at him, felt more puzzled
than ever at his having gone wrong, and more confirmed than ever in the
opinion that he had been hard and unjust to him of late, and that his
original estimate of him was the right one after all.

Power's home was a statelier one than Walter's. His father, Sir
Lawrence Power, was a baronet, the owner of broad acres, whose large and
beautiful mansion stood on one of the undulations in a park shadowed by
ancestral trees, under whose boughs the deer fed with their graceful
fawns around them. Through the park flowed a famous river, of which the
windings were haunted by herons and kingfishers, and the pleasant waters
abounded in trout and salmon. And to this estate and title Power was
heir; though of course he did not tell them this while he spoke of the
lovely scenery around the home where his fathers had so long lived.

Henderson, again, was the son of a rich merchant, who had two houses--
one city and one suburban. He was a regular little man of the world.
After the holidays he had always seen the last feats of Saltori, and
heard the most recent strains of Tiralirini. He always went to a round
of entertainments, and would make you laugh by the hour while he sang
the songs or imitated the style of the last comic actor or Ethiopian
minstrel.

While they were chatting over their holiday amusements and occupations,
Kenrick said little; and, wondering at his silence, Mr Percival a