“Let him do so, the exercise will help to prevent his taking cold provided he is well wrapped up;” said Mr. Daly, throwing a cloak over the lad’s shoulders and folding it carefully about him.

“Ill news flies fast,” says the proverb.  Mrs. Carrington met them upon the threshold, pale and trembling with affright.  She clasped her boy in her arms with a heart too full for utterance.

“Never mind, mother,” he said, “I’ve only had a ducking, that’s all.”

“But it may not be all:  you may get your death of cold,” she said, “I’ve no dry clothes for you here.”

By this time the whole party had hurried to the spot.

“Here’s a good fire; suppose we hang him up to dry before it,” said old Mr. Dinsmore with a grim smile.

“His clothes rather; rolling him up in cloaks and shawls in the meantime,” suggested Herbert’s grandmother.  “Let us ladies go back to the lawn, and leave his uncle to oversee the business.”

Herbert had spoiled his holiday so far as the remainder of the visit to this old estate was concerned:  he could not join the others at the feast presently spread under the trees on the lawn, or in the sports that followed; but had to pass the time lying idly on a pallet beside the fire, with nothing to entertain him but his own thoughts and watching the servants, until, their work done, they too wandered away in search of amusement.

Most of the afternoon was spent by the gentlemen in fishing in that same stream into which Herbert’s folly and self-conceit had plunged him.

Eddie had his own little fishing-rod, and with it in his hand sat on a log beside his father, a little apart from the rest, patiently waiting for the fish to bite.  Mr. Travilla had thrown several out upon the grass, but Eddie’s bait did not seem to attract a single one.

He began to grow weary of sitting still and silent, and creeping closer to his father whispered, “Papa, I’m tired, and I want to ask you something.  Do you think the fish will hear if I speak low?”

“Perhaps not; you may try it if you like,” returned Mr. Travilla, looking somewhat amused.

“Thank you, papa.  Well, Herbert said nobody but a coward would be afraid to go on that bridge.  Do you think he was right, papa?”

“No, my boy; but if you had gone upon it to avoid being laughed at or called a coward, I should say you showed a great lack of true courage.  He is a brave man or boy who dares to do right without regard to consequences.”

“But, papa, if you’d been there and said I might if I wanted to?”

“Hardly a supposable case, my son.”

“Well, if I’d been a man and could do as I chose?”

“Men have no more right to do as they please than boys; they must obey God.  If his will is theirs, they may do as they please, just as you may if it is your pleasure to be good and obedient.”

“Papa, I don’t understand.  Does God say we must not go into dangerous places?”