In five or six years, when De Courcy had grown to be a hale,
handsome man of twenty-four, and as capable of conducting a farm as
any to the township born, certain aberrations from the strict line
of discipline began to be rumored. He rode a gallant horse,
dressed a little more elegantly than his membership prescribed, and
his unusually high, straight collar took a knack of falling over.
Moreover, he was frequently seen to ride up the Street Road, in the
direction of Fagg's Manor, towards those valleys where the brick
Presbyterian church displaces the whitewashed Quaker meeting-house.

Had Henry Donnelly not occupied so high a seat, and exercised such
an acknowledged authority in the sect, he might sooner have
received counsel, or proffers of sympathy, as the case might be;
but he heard nothing until the rumors of De Courcy's excursions
took a more definite form.

But one day, Abraham Bradbury, after discussing some Monthly-
Meeting matters, suddenly asked: "Is this true that I hear,
Henry,--that thy son De Courcy keeps company with one of the Alison
girls?"

"Who says that?" Henry asked, in a sharp voice.

"Why, it's the common talk! Surely, thee's heard of it before?"

"No!"

Henry set his lips together in a manner which Abraham understood.
Considering that he had fully performed his duty, he said no more.