"I don't like Gilbert Mickle," he was saying as Angel entered the room; "I don't suppose he wanted to see me; he scarcely ever has anything to say to me." "Perhaps you scarcely ever have anything to say to him," Mr. Willis replied gravely; "but that has nothing to do with the matter. I consider your behaviour this afternoon both rude and selfish— particularly selfish. Where did you go fishing? In the river, I suppose?" "Yes," Gerald answered sulkily. "Uncle Edward told me not to fish in the clay pits, so, of course, I didn't." Mr. Bailey had presented him with a fishing-rod a few days previously, since when he had spent many hours with Tom Mickle, fishing in the Wrey, with no very encouraging results as yet. The clay pits to which he alluded were old disused mines which had not been worked for many years, the supply of clay having failed; they were very deep, and full of stagnant water, where such fish as roach and dace bred, and supplied sport for the boys of the neighbourhood who were not content with fishing in the river. That afternoon, being alone, Gerald had soon grown tired of fishing, especially as the fish declined to bite, so he had put aside his rod, and idly wandered along the bank of the stream till he had met a boy with whom he had entered into conversation. His new acquaintance had informed him that his name was Reginald Hope, and that his father was a doctor in Wreyford, and that he himself attended the Wreyford Grammar School; after which they had grown quite friendly, and had spent a very enjoyable time together. This Gerald told frankly enough; but he refrained from telling what the chief part of his conversation with Reginald Hope had been about, for he had a very shrewd suspicion that his father would not approve of it. The fact was, his new acquaintance had rather amazed him by talking a great deal of betting, and boasting of the money he had won by that means; and though Gerald had considered him a fine, manly fellow whilst he had been talking to him, and had admired his free-and-easy mode of speech, yet now he was away from the glamour of his presence he was doubtful if Reginald Hope was the sort of boy his father would like him to be on very friendly terms with. "I am sorry you think I behaved so rudely this afternoon," Gerald said presently, as he began to realize that Mr. Willis had just cause for his displeasure; "I—I suppose it was not polite to go away like that." "That it certainly was not; but I think more of your selfishness. I wish you would try to consider others sometimes." Mr. Willis spoke reprovingly, though with a softer tone in his voice now, as he noticed his son was really beginning to look repentant and ashamed of himself. "I don't mean to be selfish," Gerald said in a low tone. "Shall I apologize to Gilbert Mickle?" he suggested doubtfully.