My father shook his head gravely. "Like will to like," he said. "There have ever been men, aye, since the world began, who, like Nimrod, the son of Cush, have been 'mighty hunters before the Lord.' Likewise have there been men like unto Ishmael, the son of Hagar, 'wild men' whose hands are against every man, and every man's hands against them--rebels, as it were, against God and man, beings whom the yoke of society and civilisations chafes and galls, and their whole life is spent in feverish efforts to throw it off. It may well be that the blood of some far-off ancestor of the Eastern deserts stirs in the veins of this misguided young man. 'Twill be to him as a very gadfly, and if he have not--as how can he have?--the restraining influence of the Gospel, must he not ever follow the promptings of the flesh nor heed those of the spirit? I would fain see this youth, a comely lad as I remember him. May be he might yet be plucked as a brand from the burning. Was there not the godly John Bunyan, who wrote that ever blessed book, 'The Pilgrim's Progress,' who yet in his hot, rebellious youth was a haunter of taverns, a thrower of dice, a blasphemer, aye, even guilty of denying the Holy Ghost. Yet did the Lord raise up in him a very prodigy of grace. Aye, aye, we'll not abandon hope, even for such as Ephraim." "Aw'n often heard," quoth Mary, who had listened to my father's words with a deference she rarely accorded to the speech of mere man, "aw'n often heard, axin' your pardon if aw'n puttin' my spoke in, 'at a reformed rake ma'es th' best o' husbands; but aw dunnot know"--and here Mary shook her head doubtfully--"aw dunnot know, my 'Lijah were nowt o' a rake hissen, other afore or 'at after we were wed, so aw cannot say for certain, but aw sud always be in fear an' tremblin' 'at if a man had once tasted th' flesh-pots o' Egypt he'd ha' a hankerin' after th' smell an' taste o' 'em as long as he lived." "By gow, hearken to that," whispered Jim in my ear, "if th' owd woman isn't quotin' Scriptur' to thi father. It's like teichin' your granny how to suck eggs." I saw my father was ready to mount his horse theologic, and I was by no means minded that our feast should become an occasion for a sermon. So I hastened to draw a herring across the trail: "Father," I broke in irrelevantly, "have you spoken to Enoch about our little venture at Mitchell Mill?" "Now that's well remembered, Abe," my father was pleased to say. "Let us return thanks to the Giver of all good things for these His mercies, and Enoch and I will smoke a pipe in my study, and we'll all take counsel together so soon as you women folk have cleared away. I should like to know what Mary has to say. But first I've my little surprise." And my father, promising to be back anon, went slowly upstairs to his little bed-chamber, returning presently bearing in his hands what looked like an old cigar-box.