The parson joined Mr. Richard Avenel on the road. It was a fine night, and the moon clear and shining.

“So, then,” said Mr. Richard, thoughtfully, “poor Jane, who was always the drudge of the family, has contrived to bring up her son well; and the boy is really what you say, eh,—could make a figure at college?”

“I am sure of it,” said the parson, hooking himself on to the arm which Mr. Avenel proffered.

“I should like to see him,” said Richard. “Has he any manner? Is he genteel, or a mere country lout?”

“Indeed, he speaks with so much propriety, and has so much modest dignity about him, that there’s many a rich gentleman who would be proud of such a son.”

“It is odd,” observed Richard, “what a difference there is in families. There’s Jane, now, who can’t read nor write, and was just fit to be a workman’s wife, had not a thought above her station; and when I think of my poor sister Nora—you would not believe it, sir, but she was the most elegant creature in the world,—yes, even as a child (she was but a child when I went off to America). And often, as I was getting on in life, often I used to say to myself, ‘My little Nora shall be a lady after all.’ Poor thing—but she died young.” Richard’s voice grew husky.

The parson kindly pressed the arm on which he leaned, and said, after a pause,—

“Nothing refines us like education, sir. I believe your sister Nora had received much instruction, and had the talents to profit by it: it is the same with your nephew.”

“I’ll see him,” said Richard, stamping his foot firmly on the ground, “and if I like him, I’ll be as good as a father to him. Look you, Mr.—what’s your name, sir?”

“Dale.”

“Mr. Dale, look you, I’m a single man. Perhaps I may marry some day; perhaps I sha’ n’t. I’m not going to throw myself away. If I can get a lady of quality, why—but that’s neither here nor there; meanwhile I should be glad of a nephew whom I need not be ashamed of. You see, sir, I am a new man, the builder of my own fortunes; and though I have picked up a little education—I don’t well know how,—as I scramble on still, now I come back to the old country, I’m well aware that I ‘m not exactly a match for those d—-d aristocrats; don’t show so well in a drawing-room as I could wish. I could be a parliament man if I liked, but I might make a goose of myself; so, all things considered, if I can get a sort of junior partner to do the polite work, and show off the goods, I think the house of Avenel & Co. might become a pretty considerable honour to the Britishers. You understand me, sir?”

“Oh, very well,” answered Mr. Dale, smiling, though rather gravely.

“Now,” continued the New Man, “I’m not ashamed to have risen in life by my own merits; and I don’t disguise what I’ve been. And, when I’m in my own grand house, I’m fond of saying, ‘I landed at New York with L10 in my purse, and here I am!’ But it would not do to have the old folks with me. People take you with all your faults if you’re rich; but they won’t swallow your family into the bargain. So if I don’t have at my house my own father and mother, whom I love dearly, and should like to see sitting at table, with my servants behind their chairs, I could still less have sister Jane. I recollect her very well, but she can’t have got genteeler as she’s grown older. Therefore I beg you’ll not set her on coming after me! it would not do by any manner of means. Don’t say a word about me to her. But send the boy down here to his grandfather, and I’ll see him quietly, you understand.”

“Yes, but it will be hard to separate her from the boy.”

“Stuff! all boys are separated from their parents when they go into the world. So that’s settled. Now, just tell me. I know the old folks always snubbed Jane,—that is, Mother did. My poor dear father never snubbed any of us. Perhaps Mother has not behaved altogether well to Jane. But we must not blame her for that; you see this is how it happened. There were a good many of us, while Father and Mother kept shop in the High Street, so we were all to be provided for anyhow; and Jane, being very useful and handy at work, got a place when she was a little girl, and had no time for learning. Afterwards my father made a lucky hit, in getting my Lord Lansmere’s custom after an election, in which he did a great deal for the Blues (for he was a famous electioneerer, my poor father). My Lady stood godmother to Nora; and then all my brothers, and two of my sisters, died off, and Father retired from business; and when he took Jane from service, she was so common-like that Mother could not help contrasting her with Nora. You see Jane was their child when they were poor little shop-people, with their heads scarce above water; and Nora was their child when they were well off, and had retired from trade, and lived genteel: so that makes a great difference. And Mother did not quite look on her as on her own child. But it was Jane’s own fault: for Mother would have made it up with her if she had married the son of our neighbour the great linen-draper, as she might have done; but she would take Mark Fairfield, a common carpenter. Parents like best those of their children who succeed best in life. Natural. Why, they did not care for me till I came back the man I am. But to return to Jane: I’m afraid they’ve neglected her. How is she off?”

“She earns her livelihood, and is poor, but contented.”

“Ah, just be good enough to give her this” (and Richard took a bank-note of L50 from his pocket-book).

“You can say the old folks sent it to her; or that it is a present from Dick, without telling her he has come back from America.”

“My dear sir,” said the parson, “I am more and more thankful to have made your acquaintance. This is a very liberal gift of yours; but your best plan will be to send it through your mother. For, though I don’t want to betray any confidence you place in me, I should not know what to answer if Mrs. Fairfield began to question me about her brother. I never had but one secret to keep, and I hope I shall never have another. A secret is very like a lie!”

“You had a secret then?” said Richard, as he took back the bank-note. He had learned, perhaps in America, to be a very inquisitive man. He added point-blank, “Pray, what was it?”

“Why, what it would not be if I told you,” said the parson, with a forced laugh,—“a secret!”

“Well, I guess we’re in a land of liberty. Do as you like. Now, I dare say you think me a very odd fellow to come out of my shell to you in this off-hand way; but I liked the look of you, even when we were at the inn together. And just now I was uncommonly pleased to find that, though you are a parson, you don’t want to keep a man’s nose down to a shopboard, if he has anything in him. You’re not one of the aristocrats—”

“Indeed,” said the parson, with imprudent warmth, “it is not the character of the aristocracy of this country to keep people down. They make way amongst themselves for any man, whatever his birth, who has the talent and energy to aspire to their level. That’s the especial boast of the British constitution, sir!”

“Oh, you think so, do you?” said Mr. Richard, looking sourly at the parson. “I dare say those are the opinions in which you have brought up the lad. Just keep him yourself and let the aristocracy provide for him!”

The parson’s generous and patriotic warmth evaporated at once, at this sudden inlet of cold air into the conversation. He perceived that he had made a terrible blunder; and as it was not his business at that moment to vindicate the British constitution, but to serve Leonard Fairfield, he abandoned the cause of the aristocracy with the most poltroon and scandalous abruptness. Catching at the arm which Mr. Avenel had withdrawn from him, he exclaimed,—

“Indeed, sir, you are mistaken; I have never attempted to influence your nephew’s political opinions. On the contrary, if, at his age, he can be said to have formed any opinions, I am greatly afraid—that is, I think his opinions are by no means sound—that is, constitutional. I mean, I mean—” And the poor parson, anxious to select a word that would not offend his listener, stopped short in lamentable confusion of idea.

Mr. Avenel enjoyed his distress for a moment, with a saturnine smile, and then said,—

“Well, I calculate he’s a Radical. Natural enough, if he has not got a sixpence to lose—all come right by and by. I’m not a Radical,—at least not a Destructive—much too clever a man for that, I hope. But I wish to see things very different from what they are. Don’t fancy that I want the common people, who’ve got nothing, to pretend to dictate to their betters, because I hate to see a parcel of fellows who are called lords and squires trying to rule the roast. I think, sir, that it is men like me who ought to be at the top of the tree! and that’s the long and the short of it. What do you say?”

“I’ve not the least objection,” said the crestfallen parson, basely. But, to do him justice, I must add that he did not the least know what he was saying!