Oscar and his young companions lingered around the grounds for an hour
or two, familiarizing themselves with scenes of shameful cruelty, and
breathing an atmosphere loaded with pollution and moral death. The
repugnance which Oscar at first felt to the party and its doings was so
far overcome, that before he left he himself fired one or two shots,
with a rifle which was lent to him.

Oscar reached home before the hour for dinner. As he entered the
sitting-room, his mother, who had missed him, inquired where he had
been all the forenoon.

"I 've been with Alf," he replied.

His mother did not notice this evasion of her question, but added:

"Why do you want to be with Alfred so much? It seems to me you might
find better company. I 'm afraid he is not so good a boy as he might
be. I don't like his looks very much."

"Why, mother," said Oscar, "Alf is n't a bad boy, and I never heard
anybody say he was. I like him first-rate--he 's a real clever fellow."

"He may be clever enough, but I do not think he is a very good
associate for you," replied Mrs. Preston.

"Who ought to know best about that, you or I?" said Oscar, with a
pertness for which he was becoming a little too notorious. "I see Alf
every day, but you don't know hardly anything about him. At my rate, I
'll risk his hurting me."