But fuller knowledge of the boy modified these reservations. His was a razor-edge intellect, and highly combative. John, inclined to be sensitive, introspective, was shaken up and drawn out of himself by Marsh, who challenged all his ideas and made him defend them with passion. Moreover, Marsh had, for a mere youth, an amazing range, not of experience, but of thought. The literature of Greece, Rome, Germany, France and England were not strange to him. He read rapidly and talked volubly; true, his ideas were ill-digested, but he had ideas, and they flowed in his conversation. His curiosity was tireless as his enthusiasm. On their Lakeland holiday Mr. Dean had been amazed by his turbulent spirits, his readiness to rhapsodise, argue, and run, swim, box, climb, read and eat at any time of the day and night. He had no temper in the meaning of the word. His equanimity was never shaken. "You know, sir," he said one day, "old Scissors thinks I'm the Voltaire of the party, but when he likes to wake up he can make us all take a back seat. Sometimes his quiet efficiency annoys me. He is always so infernally correct. Something-like always does for me, whether it's a quotation or a figure, but Scissors always has the exact thing and knocks you down with it, and the queer thing is, that he's got imagination--and they don't often go together; you don't get the Scottish lawyer working with the Welsh preacher." Mr. Dean was amazed at this bit of schoolboy psychology, but it raised Marsh in his estimation, and from that time he saw there was something more than scintillating wit in Marsh's observation. With this view of the boy, all his preconceptions of his parents were shattered on meeting them. How came this bird of such bright plumage in so sombre a nest? Teddy Marsh met them at Loughboro Station, in exuberant spirits as usual. "Good morning, sir," he cried, waving his straw hat as soon as he sighted the guests on the platform. "Hello, Scissors, you rusty old blade! Come along, sir, our wigwam on wheels awaits you. The pony's in a vile temper this morning, and will probably insist on going in the opposite direction. Yes, they're all well, thanks. Mother's got a new creed--let's see, what was it when you were here last, Scissors, a Nutfooder or a Christadelphian, or was it Rawsonism?--well now she's a Sunrayer. You'll hear all about it; they're a sect she's linked up with in middle America; they lie in the sunshine all day, think violet thoughts, and achieve salvation by sunburn. The governor's horrified and threatens excommunication. All aboard?--won't that bag topple over? Hold on, I'm going to tickle Flossie's flanks." He whirled the whip and with a running fire of questions, answers and comments, they rolled along the leafy lanes towards the vicarage. II