"Bravo!" shouted one of the Naylor girls, who had pocketed her refreshments to carry home as a souvenir. "Therefore," concluded the orator, "let us leave the glamour and bewildering gaiety of these festivities and seek a more common-place seclusion. Let us thank Mrs. Herringford once again--and go home." "Bravo!" yelled Idowno, jumping up, and instantly the meeting adjourned. CHAPTER XIII. RECONCILIATION. "Mr. Jarrod" said Jim when he went to work next morning, "father's here." "I've just been to call upon him," returned the lawyer, looking steadily at the young man; "but you haven't." Jim flushed. "Does he know I'm here?" he asked, hesitatingly. "I told him. He didn't know it until then. Your mother and Nellie and May are all delighted and eager to see you." "And father?" "He did not express himself as glad or sorry. You've offended him deeply, Jim." The boy thrust his hands into his pockets and looked thoughtful. "I'd like to see mother," he said, musingly. "She's as tender and sweet as any mother can be, Mr. Jarrod; but the poor dear is entirely under my father's thumb, and even his frown terrifies her." "Hm," said the lawyer. "I thought that kind of wives became extinct years ago." "Mother's the old-fashioned sort, sir. And the girls are all right, in their way--for sisters. But dad has a dreadful temper, and when he gets on his high horse all I can do is to jaw back." "No two in a family should try to ride the high horse at the same time," observed Jarrod; "and you must remember that the head of the house controls the stables. He's sick, Jim, and his pain makes him crabbed. Why not try to bear with him, and be friendly?" "That's what Susie says. Perhaps I really ought to go up to the cottage and call." "There's no question about it. Go now." Jim hesitated. "I said I'd never darken his doors again, you know," he intimated, weakly. "These are not his doors. It's Grant's cottage." "So it is. Well, I'll go." He pulled his hat down over his ears desperately, buttoned his coat in spite of the heat, and with tense muscles but trembling lips marched up the hill to the Grant cottage. Before he could knock the door flew open and he was in his mother's arms. The poor lady was sobbing with joy, and led her errant son into the room where his father sat propped with cushions in an easy chair. "Here's Jim!" she said, trembling with uncertainty and a well founded fear of the interview to follow. Mr. Everton looked at his boy and nodded. "Sit down, Jim," he said. The tone was not harsh, but lacked cordiality. Jim sat down. "How are you, sir?" "Pretty bad. I don't seem to find any relief." Once Jim had wickedly suggested that he take his own rheumatism cure; but the remark had led to all their trouble, so he twirled his hat and answered perfunctorily: "I'm sorry, sir." Such mildness of demeanor ought to have placated the father. But Everton was eyeing his son suspiciously.