"They tell me you are a scholar," said Father Barnaby, "and I hear of you that you have an appetite for novelties and would fair pry into high and sacred matters." "Who told you as much as that, I wonder?" thought Jack, but he held his peace. "I do assure you, brother, the boy is a good boy," said Father John, timidly and anxiously. "He can say his creed and questions, and is regular in his duties." "Say you so? Then you have examined him?" "Oh, yes," replied Father John hastily, "and he can say the seven Penitential Psalms." "That was a bit of a fib," thought Jack, "but after all, I dare say he thought he had." "I am glad to hear as much," said Father Barnaby, though he did not look so. "But I propose to examine him myself, always with your leave, good brother. I would not for the world trespass upon your rights and duties, especially the latter which you are so careful to fulfil." Jack was trying hard to keep his mind in a calm and proper frame for the trial which he supposed was coming; but he could not help thinking that he should like to break the monk's head for his insolence to his old friend. He felt that Father Barnaby meant to intimidate and confuse him; and he was determined to be neither confused nor scared. After another interval of silence, the younger priest began again— "I have heard something of an ill report of you, young man; and I desire to discover whether there is any foundation therefor. So answer my questions plainly and directly, and let me have no evasions." "So please your reverence, I will do my best to satisfy you," replied Jack, modestly. "I trust I have been well taught both at home and at school, as well as by our parish priest." "Umph!" returned the priest. "It takes more than good teaching to make a sound Christian. Now tell me—but what book is that you are hugging so closely under your arm?" "My Horace, an't please you," replied Jack, producing the volume. Father John had declared that Father Barnaby had no infirmities, but in this he was mistaken. Father Barnaby did possess one unregulated affection, and that was love for the Latin poets, above all, for Horace. If anything could draw his attention from a controversy or make him forget his canonical hours, it was a new edition or a disputed passage of his favorite author. He had read all that had ever been written on the subject, and had himself written a treatise on the question as to whether Leucothoe in the eleventh ode was a real person or a figment of the poet's imagination, and also upon the Babylonian numbers in the same ode. "So you read Horace, do you?" he asked, in quite another tone of voice. "But a little, your reverence," returned Jack. "I had but just begun it when I left school; and I fear I shall find it too hard without some help." "How far had you gone?" was the next question.