By Berwen Banks

He did not add that he had paced up and down for an hour in his bedroom

after retiring for the night, peering out into the darkness in great

anxiety for his son's safety.

"Very interesting, father; nothing less than a ducking on the Rock

Bridge! The storm was raging furiously there, and a girl was crossing

in the midst of it; she was in some danger, and I was able to help her

to cross in safety."

"One of our congregation?" asked the old man.

"By Jove! no, father; there isn't one girl under seventy in our

congregation!"

"A Methodist, then, I suppose--one of Essec Powell's lot?"

"Yes," said Cardo, beginning to redden; "but surely you wouldn't let a

woman be drowned without making an effort to save her because she was a

Methodist?"

"I did not say so, Cardo; but certainly I should prefer my son's

risking his life for a member of the church."

Cardo made a gesture of impatience which his father saw and felt. It

irritated him, and, fixing his eyes steadily on his son's face, he said: "I don't know how it is, but of late that subject has frequently been

on your tongue. I have no cause to love the Methodists, and I hope

they are not now going to add to my reasons for disliking them by

coming between me and my son. I simply wish you not to mention them to

me, Cardo--that is not much to ask."

"I will not, father," said Cardo, pushing his plate away; "I will never

mention them to you again--"

"Good!" replied his father. "I have a letter here which I would like

to read to you, but not this morning, as I am very busy."

"All right, father--in the afternoon," said Cardo; and when Betto

appeared to clear away the breakfast things he was lost in a profound

reverie, his long legs stretched out before him and his hands buried

deep in his pocket.

Betto tried in vain to recall him to outward surroundings by clattering

her china and by sundry "h'ms" and coughs, but Cardo still remained

buried in thought and jingling his money in his pocket. At last she

accidentally jerked his head with her elbow.

"Hello, Betto! what is the matter?"

"My dear boy," said Betto, "did I hurt you? Where were you so late

last night?"

"Oh, out in the storm. Have you seen my wet clothes? I flung them out

through my bedroom window; you will find them in a heap on the garden

wall."

"Wet clothes? Caton pawb! did you get in the sea then?"

"Oh, yes! tumbled over and over like a pebble on the beach," he said,

rising; "but you know such duckings are nothing to me; I enjoy them!"