"Haste!" shouted my father. "I never said I was in haste. I never choose
to be in haste. I hate haste!"

"Then why..."

"Because you have been wasting your time and mine, sir," interrupted he.
"Because I will not permit you to go idling and vagabondizing about
the village."

My _sang froid_ was gone directly.

"Idling and vagabondizing!" I repeated angrily. "I have done nothing of
the kind. I defy you to prove it. When have you known me forget that I
am a gentleman?"

"Humph!" growled my father, mollified but sarcastic; "a pretty
gentleman--a gentleman of sixteen!"

"It is true,"' I continued, without heeding the interruption, "that I
lingered for a moment to read a placard by the way; but if you will take
the trouble, sir, to inquire at the Rectory, you will find that I waited
a quarter of an hour before I could send up your letter."

My father grinned and rubbed his hands. If there was one thing in the
world that aggravated him more than another, it was to find his fire
opposed to ice. Let him, however, succeed in igniting his adversary, and
he was in a good humor directly.

"Come, come, Basil," said he, taking off his spectacles, "I never said
you were not a good lad. Go to your books, boy--go to your books; and