"I am going to be the agent myself, Morphew, and manage for my father;
and we'll soon put a stop to that," I said, more cheerfully than I felt.

"Manage for--master," he said, with a face of consternation. "You,
Mr. Philip!"

"You seem to have a great contempt for me, Morphew."

He did not deny the fact. He said with excitement, "Master, sir,--master
don't let himself be put a stop to by any man. Master's--not one to be
managed. Don't you quarrel with master, Mr. Philip, for the love of God."
The old man was quite pale.

"Quarrel!" I said. "I have never quarrelled with my father, and I don't
mean to begin now."

Morphew dispelled his own excitement by making up the fire, which was
dying in the grate. It was a very mild spring evening, and he made up a
great blaze which would have suited December. This is one of many ways in
which an old servant will relieve his mind. He muttered all the time as
he threw on the coals and wood. "He'll not like it,--we all know as he'll
not like it. Master won't stand no meddling, Mr. Philip,"--this last he
discharged at me like a flying arrow as he closed the door.

I soon found there was truth in what he said. My father was not angry, he
was even half amused. "I don't think that plan of yours will hold water,
Phil. I hear you have been paying rents and redeeming furniture,--that's
an expensive game, and a very profitless one. Of course, so long as you
are a benevolent gentleman acting for your own pleasure, it makes no