The lad's face was both attractive and strong. His slightly aquiline nose revealed a sensitive nature; his prominent chin and firm lips, a resolute will; his high, rolling forehead--swept by the tangled waves of rollicking hair--intellectuality; the hue of his locks and the deep blue eye, a soul that, though kind and affectionate, could be fired by strong passions. At least so conjectured the parson, who thought he could read character in human lineaments. But these thoughts did not occupy the latter long. It was the manner of the lad that disturbed him. With bright, cheery smile he had been accustomed to greet him heretofore. Now the youth stood before him almost with the air of a culprit. He shunned the rector's eyes, and seemed as if wishing to avoid that calm scrutiny. A fleeting thought possessed the mind of the pastor. Could the youth possibly be guilty of the misdemeanours committed at the Manor? Was he wrong in his judgment of his favourite pupil? The truth of the matter was that the youth had been crying over petty vexations. At least there were tears in his eyes and, like many of his age, he disliked to be seen thus. "Well, Ande," said Parson Trant, breaking the silence, "you have a voice that ought to be in our parish choir. Now what do you say about coming in next Sabbath morning? Mr. Penjerrick will give you a little preliminary training Saturday afternoon." "I--I would rather not come, sir, if you could excuse me. I--I don't sing in church." "And why not?" asked the parson, kindly. "Because I would be singing the praises of God when--when--I don't feel like it," responded the lad a little slowly, and with some effort. "Why, Ande, you are a Christian lad--true, you have not yet been confirmed and united to the church--but still, you are a Christian lad. Are you not?" "I don't know, sir," said the lad, and again relapsed into silence. "My poor lad," said the good old man, as he put one arm over the boy's shoulder, affectionately, "there's something wrong with you to-day; you are not yourself. Come now, confide in me. Tell me about it and let me give you my advice in the matter. You have not done anything wrong, have you?" Thus questioned by the good old rector, Ande, who loved him for his worth as a true man and a noble exponent of Christianity, could not help but respond. Flinging up his head and pushing back the masses of hair that would persist in falling over his eyes, he said: "It is this way, Mr. Trant, I have made up my mind to leave the country. There is room for me on the sea or in foreign parts. I can't bear the taunts of some of the lads at the parish school. The master doesn't know and you don't know how mean some of the boys act. There's Bob Sloan, Dick Denny and some more of that stripe that are becoming unbearable." "Why, what do they say?" asked the parson, kindly. "They call me the ugly Dane or Deane and cast slurs upon my father and grandfather, saying they were traitors to the government."