“Thou wilt have to-day a call from Friend Pemberton. The overseers are moved, at last, to call thee to an account. I have lost hope that thou wilt forsake and condemn thy error. I have worked with the overseers to give thee and thy friend, John Warder, time, and this has been with tenderness accorded. No good is yet come of it. If this private admonition be of no effect, thy case will come before overseers again, and thou wilt be dealt with as a disorderly person, recommended to be disowned, when thy misdeeds come to be laid before the Quarterly Meeting for discipline. Already the Yearly Meeting hath found fault with us for lax dealing with such as thou art. Thou hast ceased to obey either thy father or thy God, and now my shame for thee is opened to all men.” Not greatly moved I listened to this summary of what was to happen. “It is too late,” I said, “to argue this matter, my dear father. I cannot sin against my conscience. I will receive Mr. Pemberton as thy friend. He is a man whom all men respect and many love, but his ways are no longer my ways. Is that all?” I added. I feared any long talk with my father. We were as sure to fall out at last as were he and my Aunt Gainor. “Yes,” he said; “that is all. And tell Wilson to bring me the invoice of the ‘Saucy Sally.’” This time neither of us had lost temper. He had transacted a piece of business which concerned my soul, and I had listened. It had left me sore, but that was an old and too familiar story. Reflecting on what had passed in the counting-house,--and my conclusion now shows me how fast I was growing older,--I put on my hat at once, and set out to find the overseer deputed to make a private remonstrance with my father’s son. I suppose that my action was also hastened by a disinclination to lie still, awaiting an unpleasant and unavoidable business.