A few miles from Elmira, upon an eminence from which there was a fine view of the surrounding country, stood the handsome country mansion of Stephen Ray, already referred to as the cousin of Ernest's father. It passed into his possession by inheritance from poor Ernest's grandfather, the will under which the bequest was made cutting off his son for no worse a crime than marrying a girl thoroughly respectable, but of humble birth. Stephen Ray, since he came into possession of his uncle's estate, had improved it considerably. He had torn down the old stable and built an imposing new one. The plain carriage which had satisfied his uncle had been succeeded by an elegant coach, and the slow horse by a pair of spirited steeds. Mr. Ray had become pompous, and by his manner made it clear that he considered himself a man of great consequence. He was a local magistrate, and had for years endeavored to obtain a nomination for Congress. Had he been of popular manners, he would probably have succeeded, but he was not a favorite among the poorer classes, and their vote must be considered. There is an old saying, "Like father, like son," and Clarence, now turned sixteen, the only child of the country magnate, was like his father in all objectionable qualities. He was quite as much impressed with ideas of his own consequence. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon. Mr. Ray sat on the piazza, the day being unusually warm, reading a newspaper. In the street near by, his son Clarence was moving swiftly on a new velocipede which his father had just purchased for him. "Out of the way, there!" he called out, as a shabbily dressed stranger with a weary step plodded along the pathway. Whether because he was hard of hearing or because his mind was preoccupied, the stranger did not heed the warning, and Clarence, who might easily have avoided the collision, ran into him recklessly. Had the wheel been moving at a greater rate of speed, he might have been seriously hurt. As it was, he was nearly thrown down. But he rallied, and seizing the offending rider with no gentle grasp, dragged him from the wheel, and shook him vigorously. "Let me alone, you tramp!" exclaimed Clarence furiously. But the stranger did not release his hold. "Not till you apologize for running into me," he answered sternly. "Apologize to a man like you!" ejaculated Clarence, struggling furiously for his freedom. "Will you apologize?" "There is no need of an apology. You got in my way." "You have no business on the sidewalk with your wheel. It is meant for foot passengers." "Do you know who I am?" demanded Clarence haughtily. "No, I don't, nor do I care." "I am Clarence Ray, son of Squire Stephen Ray. He is a magistrate, and he can send you to jail." These words of Clarence had the effect he desired. The stranger released him, and eyed him with close scrutiny. "So you are the son of Stephen Ray?" he said. "Yes. What have you to say now?"