Well, what?" said Mr. Wynne, his hand on the handle, and hardly turning round.

"It is all my fault, not Gordon's; it is indeed-" "Nonsense!" interrupted Mr. Wynne, sharply; "I am not going to listen to any such mistaken kindness: that boy's faults have been excused at other people's expense far too long already." And he entered the room and shut the door behind him.

Will stood sobered in a minute, full of shame for his wanton cruelty to his little brother, full of misery for its consequences, and of indignation at the injustice of that blow especially. For ten minutes he lingered on the landing, scarcely able to resist the temptation of going in and explaining Gordon's innocence, at all risks to himself, fear of exciting his mother alone hindering him; then, as the only reparation he could as yet make to his brother, he turned up the attic stairs to try to comfort him, and to tell him that he would explain all the first minute his father came out of his mother's room.

He had not even the comfort of doing that, for Gordon had bolted the door, and would not be induced to let his late persecutor in; and though Will through the keyhole gave a most solemn promise that he would exculpate him the first moment that he could do so, he went away without even knowing whether he had been heard.

He went down again to the little sitting-room over the hall, ready to pounce upon his father the moment he appeared. The Sunday dinner hour was half-past one. It was now nearly four, but an hour and a half yet stretched out drearily before tea time, for Will felt that there was little hope of his father leaving the room earlier. One wretched quarter of an hour had passed when there was a step along the passage. Will looked out, though without much hope. It was Paul. 'Why, Will, what are you doing there? It's left off raining at last, so I'm meaning to go out. Come along."

"No thank you."

"No thank you ?" repeated Paul stopping, "why not ?" thinking his walk home with Gordon might have offended his innocent brothers. Kindness to a

culprit in a large family is, after all, a difficult question of right and wrong.

"I'm waiting for papa."

"What for? But he won't be coming down before tea time at the earliest, so we might have a good hour's walk first."

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"But I must see him the very minute he comes out." Oh-very well," and Paul was passing on, when he turned back, and coming up to Will, who was at his usual station on the window-seat, "you're not angry with me ?"

With you?" repeated Will, opening his blue eyes, "O dear no. Why should I?"

"I thought you might be because I seemed to patronize poor Gordon this morning. But you know it is so wretched for him to be down again after having made such a fool of himself, and without mamma too. Don't let him have to walk by himself to church tonight, there's a good fellow."

"Oh, Paul," cried Will, his honest eyes filling with tears, "you don't know what a wretch I've been to him," and he detailed all the teazing which he had made their little brother endure in the schoolroom.

"I didn't think you could have been such a brute," said Paul indignantly, when he had finished, "how cowardly to take advantage of the absurdities of such a little fellow!"

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Yes, I know," answered Will, crimson and humbly, "I am so ashamed of myself, and to think I must tell papa of it all! and mamma will know, and—”

"Come, don't cry," said Paul, more good-humouredly, "you wouldn't have done it if you had but stopped one moment to think, we all know that."

"But I didn't think, I never do, that is what mamma is always telling me.-Well, I hope papa will be as angry as you were, and give it me well. To think of

his hitting that poor little fellow, when it's I who ought to have been half killed.-Oh dear! and I daresay mamma thought she could trust me, she spoke so kindly to me on Friday, and said I'd always been a good son to her, and to think I have been such a cowardly brute to Gordon to-day!"

Paul lingered; no one could have had the heart to say any but a kind word to one so contrite, and so determined to exculpate his victim at any risk to himself.

"Well," he said at length, "I think I shall go out and get Harvey and David to come as you won't want them. You do quite right to stay at home, quite, only-you know you are so like Barbara after all—” and Paul broke unconsciously into a smile, "do remember that papa has not the least idea that he has punished the wrong person, and so speak temperately and quietly, or very likely he won't listen to you at all." "But he must, I can't be happy till I have told him all."

"Well, I don't wonder that you feel so, still, just put yourself in his place, and remember how much reason he has had to be incensed with Gordon of late, how little with you. Good-bye for the present, then,' and Paul went.

"David's upstairs if you want him," said Will, going after him.

"Oh, thank you," and five minutes later Will with a heavy and envious heart watched his three brothers down the green towards Fordhurst. He lounged listlessly about a little, then started up, "If I hadn't behaved so badly over the Catechism, and then felt so wretched and idle I couldn't read, all this wouldn't have happened. How badly I have spent my Sunday -what is that,

"And Satan always finds some work

For idle hands to do.'

Oh dear, how true it is! Well, I will read now."
He went to Mrs. Wynne's bookcase, and took out

Jeremy Taylor's Holy Living and Dying." At first the quaint language and quainter conceits often tempted the schoolboy to smile, but he read resolutely on till thoroughly touched, interested, and impressed, and at last the tea bell rang when he thought that he had at least half an hour to wait yet.

"Oh dear! and I ain't ready for tea, but I must catch papa-yet mamma was so vexed last Sunday at my hair being so rough-I will be down like a shot though!"

He darted up the stairs, brushed his thick, sturdy brown hair, looked at his hands, decided they would do. "I can't wash out Gordon's bite anyhow; oh dear, how it aches!" and with this he was at the foot of the attic stairs again, and-was just in time to see his father at the foot of the others.

"Oh dear! papa!" he shouted with all his might, but luckily for him his father did not hear, though poor Mrs. Wynne did.

Will darted down the stairs and reached the parlour breathlessly.

"You are always late, Will," said Barbara, rather crossly, as he passed.

"I'm very sorry-but, papa, may I speak to you one minute ?"

"Well ?" said Mr. Wynne, sitting down.

"Oh, must it be here!" escaped poor Will, dismayed. "It was about Gordon, papa."

"I won't hear a word more about it," answered Mr. Wynne, decidedly.

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Papa, you must, please, I had been—”

William, I will not. I tell you that boy shall find he is to be blamed for his own faults, not other people; rushing in upon his mother in that inconsiderate, selfish way!"

"But he wouldn't have done it, if I hadn't—”

"Now, Will," interrupted his father, in a tone full of displeasure, "if you say a word more about it, I shall send you out of the room this instant."

Will stood a minute, his hands upon the back of his chair, his chest heaving, his face as sullen as ever poor David's had been.

" I suppose I should disobey you if I did say more, but I can't stay here when Gordon ought to be down and I up," and he turned away.

The brothers and sisters looked at one another. Paul coloured, glanced at his father to see if he might venture to tell Will's tale himself, but could not think so; then, after a moment's hesitation, rose, muttered something about "being excused for a minute," and prepared to follow his brother.

"No, Paul, sit down," said Mr. Wynne, angrily, "if William thinks he is to be so impertinent with impunity he will find himself mistaken. I told him before that I would not listen to such nonsense. Now, Barbara, your mother's tea, if you please."

Barbara poured it out hurriedly, Paul prepared toast and salt, and Mr. Wynne carried them up. "Oh dear," groaned Hargrave, "what a squally day!"

Paul held his tongue, but not without an effort. He had never before found his own lessons of perfect and instantaneous obedience so hard to practise.

"What is the matter now ?" asked Barbara, despairingly. "Where is Gordon? and where is poor Will gone? Are they to have tea sent up to them, or what ?"

Her lamentable tone made even Paul smile, and Laura and Hargrave laugh.

"Pray let them have some tea," answered Hargrave, Paul being silent; "look sharp, and I'll be up with it and down again in a jiffey, before the governor's back himself."

"Thank you. I'm not doing wrong, am I, Paul? I'm sure poor Will—”

"Barbara, pray!" said Paul, entreatingly. "Oh no, doing quite right; here, Harvey, let me take one." "My dear Paul, you forget that you have been told