"Pooh!" rejoined Mr. Wall, in a good-tempered, matter-of-fact tone. "You did not expect then to be exalted to Trevlyn Hold. Nonsense, Chattaway! We are old friends, you know. But, let me continue. I overheard a certain conversation of this boy's with Nora Dickson, and it seemed to bring my own early life back to me. With every word he spoke, I had a fellow-feeling. My father insisted that I should follow the business he was in; this one. He carried on a successful trade for years, in this very house, and nothing would do but I must succeed to it. In vain I urged my repugnance to it, my dislike; in vain I said I had formed other views for myself; I was not listened to. In those days it was not the fashion for sons to run counter to their fathers' will; at least, such was my experience; and into the business I came. I have reconciled myself to it by dint of time and habit; liked it, I never have; and I have always felt that it was--as I heard this boy express it--a cruel wrong to force me into it. You cannot, therefore, be surprised that I decline so to force another. I will never do it knowingly." "You decline absolutely to take him?" asked Mr. Chattaway. "Absolutely and positively. He can remain in the house a few days longer if it will suit his convenience, or he can leave to-day. I am not displeased with you," added Mr. Wall, turning to George, and holding out his hand. "We shall part good friends." George seized it and grasped it, his countenance glowing, a whole world of gratitude shining from his eyes as he lifted them to Mr. Wall. "I shall always think you have been the best friend I ever had, sir, next to my father." "I hope it will prove so. I trust you will find some pursuit in life more congenial to you than this." Mr. Chattaway took up his hat and whip. "This will be fine news for your mother, sir!" cried he, severely. "It may turn out well for her," replied George, boldly. "My belief is the farm never would have got along with John Pinder as manager." "You think you would make a better?" said Mr. Chattaway, his thin lip curling. "I can be true to her, at any rate," said George. "And I can have my eyes about me." "Good morning," resumed Mr. Chattaway to Mr. Wall, putting out unwillingly the tips of two fingers. Mr. Wall laughed. "I do not see why you should be vexed, Mr. Chattaway. The boy is no son of yours. For myself, all I can say is, that I have been actuated by motives of regard for his interest." "It remains to be proved whether it will be for his interest," coldly rejoined Mr. Chattaway. "Were I his mother, and this check were dealt out to me, I should send him off to break stones on the road. Good morning, Wall. And I beg you will not bring me here again upon a fool's errand."