"Why, what nonsense, father!" exclaimed the young man. "I heard that you had just entered the schoolroom, and I followed to speak to you, that's all; and here you turn rusty about it. Hang it all, a fellow comes home for a little peace, and the place is made miserable." "By you, Cyril," retorted his father, sharply. "Home is a calm and peaceful place till you come back, and then--I grieve to say it--trouble is sure to begin." "Why, what have I done now?" "Done?" said his father, bitterly, as they walked up the long town street. "Why, given up another chance in life. Here, at the expense of a thousand pounds, you are started upon this Australian expedition, to become a settler, but at the end of two years you are back home, with the money gone, and as unsettled as ever." "Well, we had all that over last night and the night before. You need not bring it up again. That is not why you have turned rusty," said the young man, sulkily. "I think I will ask you to speak respectfully to me, Cyril," said his father, with dignity. "Respectfully!" said Cyril, with a mocking laugh. "Why, I'm behaving wonderfully. If I had stayed out at the sheep farm for another year I should have been a perfect boor." "And I must request, finally, that you interfere no more in any of the parish matters." "Well, who has interfered, father?" "To put it plainly, then, my boy, I insist upon your keeping away from that school." "And for goodness' sake, father, why?" "I will tell you," said the old clergyman, with no small show of excitement. "I have been reviled this morning, and accused of being wanting in duty, especially in the management of my sons." "Who dared to be so insolent?" cried the young man. "I was compared to Eli of old, my boy; and I fear only too justly." "Let's see; Eli's sons were very naughty boys, weren't they?" said the young man, laughing. "Silence, sir!" cried his father, flushing; "these are not matters for your idle jests. I acknowledge that, for your poor mother's sake, I have given way, and been weak and indulgent to the boy she, poor invalid, has ever worshipped; but the time has come now for me to make a stand, ere worse befall our house." "Why, father, what do you mean?" "This, my son," cried the old clergyman, sternly. "You left home two years ago, wild and fighting against restraint. You have come back now rougher in your ways--" "No wonder. You should have led such a life as I have amongst sheep farmers and roughs, and you wouldn't wonder at my ways." "And far less amenable to discipline." "Why, what do you want, father?" cried the young man, impatiently. "Strict obedience in all things, but more especially in those where any lapse might reflect upon my conduct as the clergyman of this parish." "Why, of course, father--what do you suppose a fellow is going to do?" "Do you think I'm blind, Cyril?" said his father, sternly. "Not I, father. Why do you ask?"