open, and let his horse in.

"Ha! Charles Marston, I protest!" said the young man, quickening his pace
to meet his friend. "Marston, my dear fellow," he called aloud, "how glad
I am to see you."

There was another entrance into Newton Park, opening from the same road,
about half a mile further on; and Charles Marston made his way lie
through this. Thus the young people walked on, talking of a hundred
things as they proceeded, in the mirth of their hearts.

Between the fathers of the two young men, who thus walked so
affectionately together, there subsisted unhappily no friendly feelings.
There had been several slight disagreements between them, touching their
proprietary rights, and one of these had ripened into a formal and
somewhat expensive litigation, respecting a certain right of fishing
claimed by each. This legal encounter had terminated in the defeat of
Marston. Mervyn, however, promptly wrote to his opponent, offering him
the free use of the waters for which they had thus sharply contested, and
received a curt and scarcely civil reply, declining the proposed
courtesy. This exhibition of resentment on Marston's part had been
followed by some rather angry collisions, where chance or duty happened
to throw them together. It is but justice to say that, upon all such
occasions, Marston was the aggressor. But Mervyn was a somewhat testy old
gentleman, and had a certain pride of his own, which was not to be
trifled with. Thus, though near neighbors, the parents of the young
friends were more than strangers to each other. On Mervyn's side,
however, this estrangement was unalloyed with bitterness, and simply of
that kind which the great moralist would have referred to "defensive
pride." It did not include any member of Marston's family, and Charles,