“Excuse me, sir, but I have never much time to waste. This, as you know, is a most busy day, and all the preparations are under my sole charge. I laugh at the fuss, as a matter of course. But that question is not for me. Cradock Nowell is a noble fellow, and I have the highest respect for him”. “Well, I rather prefer young Clayton. Having brought them both into the world, I ought to understand them. But I hope he wonʼt make a fool of himself in this matter we have been talking of”. Mr. Garnet jerked his companionʼs arm, and his face went pale as Portland stone. “Make a d—d rogue more likely. And he wonʼt be the first of his family”. “Yes, as you say”, replied the doctor to all he could catch of the muttered words, which flew over the crown of his hat, “beyond all doubt the first family in this part of the kingdom, and so they must have their jubilee. But I trust you will use with the utmost caution what I thought it best to confide to you, under the bond of secrecy. Of course, I could not think of telling papa, either of lady or gentleman; and knowing how you stand with the family, you seemed to me the proper person to meet this little difficulty”. “Beyond a doubt, I am”. “Pooh, sir, a boy and a girl. I wonder you think so much about it. Men never know their own minds in the matter until they arrive at our age. And as for the chits on the other side—whew, they blow right and left, as the feathers on their hats do”. “That is not the case with _my_ family. We make up our minds, and stick to them”. “Then your family is the exception, which only proves my rule; and I am glad that it is not concerned in the present question”. When they came to that part of the lawn in front of the ancient Hall where the fireworks’ stage had been reared on a gently–rising mound, Cradock Nowell met them, with a book in his hand. To–morrow he would be twenty–one; and a more honest, open–hearted fellow, or a better built one, never arrived at manʼs estate, whether for wealth or poverty. He had not begun to think very deeply; indeed, who could expect it, where trouble had never entered? It is pain that deepens the channel of thought, and sorrow that sweeps the bar away. Cradock as yet was nothing more than a clever, fine young man, an elegant and accurate scholar, following thought more than leading it. Nevertheless, he had the material of a grand unselfish character—of a nature which, when perfected, could feel its imperfections. Sorrow and trial were needed for him; and God knows he soon got enough of them.