“Master Rolf,” I observed, calmly, and suppressing my inward wrath, “you call yourself a gentleman, but I assure you a savage shows more gentlemanly feeling than you. Don’t you know your mother’s words should be sacred, and you are bound in honour not to repeat them?” And then, as he seemed rather impressed at this, I told him how, even among savages and wild and uncultured nations, the sense of hospitality and gratitude was so strong that, when a man had partaken of bread and salt, broken the bread of fellowship, he was bound in honour not to betray or injure his host in any way; and I related to him an anecdote of an Armenian servant, who had long been faithful to his master, and had defended him in many dangers in his travels through a lawless country. “The master,” I continued, “had vast treasures under his care, and he was greatly troubled when his servant said he must leave him. Judge what his feelings must have been when the man coolly told him that he had entered into a league with some banditti to rob him of his money; that it would be mean to remain in his service under these circumstances, and that he had given him warning of his intention, that he might defend himself, and that now they were equal. “Even this lawless robber had some notions of honour, Master Rolf; while he ate his master’s bread and salt he was bound by his service not to injure him. Now you are only a little boy, but you ought to understand that you also are bound not to betray your mother or repeat her words, as long as you eat her bread and salt; that is the way people do so much mischief in the world, repeating things they know are not meant to be heard.” Rolf’s eyes sparkled. “I like that story awfully. Yes,” and looking at me critically, “I like you too, though you are a plain young woman. No, I did not mean to say that,” interrupting himself in a hurry; “bread and salt, you know; I shall always think of that when I am going to tell Juddy things that mother says. She is an old stupid, you know, and she never has time to make a tail to my kite, and mother says she has no patience with her, she is such an——Oh, oh, Miss Fenton, bread and salt! How ever shall I remember when I want to put Juddy in a rage?” “I daresay I shall be able to help you with your kite,” I returned, changing the subject, “but we shall want plenty of string and paper.” “Oh, you nice old thing,” replied Rolf, ecstatically. “You are not a bit plain, not a bit; I shall tell mother I think you lovely, and that I mean to marry you when I grow up. Won’t she stare at that? May I bring my kite here this afternoon?” “No, no, my dear, not this afternoon; we are going to the shore.” “Oh, then I will come with you. Mother,” as Mrs. Markham appeared at the door, and looked at us with unfeigned surprise, “I can’t drive with you this afternoon; I am going on the beach with Miss Fenton and the children.” (_To be continued._) [Illustration] THE HISTORY OF HOME OR