When we got to the rocks and he had scrambled out, scraping his knees and one of his elbows in doing so, for it was not easy to get out unless you knew the way, he was quite offended, and would hardly speak to me. I was shaking with laughter, but I said I was sorry and gave him some sticking-plaster. He took the sticking-plaster, but would have none of my sympathy, and on the way home I had to soothe him into a better temper. Then, as usual, the cloud passed quite suddenly, and he was all right. As we drew near the house I wondered, uneasily, what he would think of my father, and what he would think of my home. Before coming to us he had been staying in Scotland with people who had evidently possessed yachts and motor-cars and all kinds of things, whereas we could not even boast a spare bed, and he would have to sleep with me. When we came in, I introduced him to my father, who was working in the garden, and before dinner was over I was delighted to see that they were going to get on well together. Owen seemed to notice none of his peculiar habits, or, if he did, he was perfectly indifferent to them. He displayed an extraordinary interest in the school, asking all kinds of questions, and bringing out his own theories of education, which may or may not have emanated from the sage in Russia. I let them talk together without interfering much. I could see that my father was very favourably impressed, though the fact that such an admirable youth happened to be a particular friend of mine was naturally perplexing. Owen was frightfully polite. He called my father “Sir,” and listened deferentially to everything he had to say, never offering his own opinion as of any particular value. They talked almost exclusively of education. Owen told how he was teaching a boy at home in the evenings, the son of their coachman, and how clever this boy was, and how he had got Mr. Gill senior to promise to pay his college fees if he did well at school during the next year or two. It was the first time I had heard of the matter, but I supposed it was the mysterious something which had interfered with his own work, and had made him so anxious about retaining his exhibition. “Didn’t _he_ do splendidly?” Owen said suddenly, nodding his head in my direction. “Peter can be clever enough when he chooses,” my father answered dryly.