With the calmest imaginable expression of face, Mr. Thorpe looked up
from his book; and, first carefully putting a paper-knife between the
leaves, placed it on the table. He then crossed one of his legs over
the other, rested an elbow on each arm of his chair, and clasped his
hands in front of him. On the wall opposite hung several lithographed
portraits of distinguished preachers, in and out of the
Establishment--mostly represented as very sturdily-constructed men with
bristly hair, fronting the spectator interrogatively and holding thick
books in their hands. Upon one of these portraits--the name of the
original of which was stated at the foot of the print to be the
Reverend Aaron Yollop--Mr. Thorpe now fixed his eyes, with a faint
approach to a smile on his face (he never was known to laugh), and with
a look and manner which said as plainly as if he had spoken it: "This
old man is about to say something improper or absurd to me; but he is
my wife's father, it is my duty to bear with him, and therefore I am
perfectly resigned."

"It's no use looking in that way, Thorpe," growled the old gentleman;
"I'm not to be put down by looks at my time of life. I may have my own
opinions I suppose, like other people; and I don't see why I shouldn't
express them, especially when they relate to my own daughter's boy.
It's very unreasonable of me, I dare say, but I think I ought to have a
voice now and then in Zack's bringing up."

Mr. Thorpe bowed respectfully--partly to Mr. Goodworth, partly to the
Reverend Aaron Yollop. "I shall always be happy, sir, to listen to any
expression of your opinion--"

"My opinion's this," burst out Mr. Goodworth. "You've no business to
take Zack to church at all, till he's some years older than he is now.