Mrs. Eaton, being a mid-Victorian, had read many books which described clerical life in England and as exercise for her boy she was inclined to believe in long solitary walks. Young Englishmen, preparing for the clergy, often "did the Continent" on foot, carrying "their things" upon their backs in knapsacks. For Mark's sake she actually found herself wishing that the Continent was just a little more accessible to Bartow-on-the-Sound.
For a little while Mark Eaton enjoyed the distinction of having the second best room in the house, and being set a little apart as one whose clay was going to be turned into something rather superior to the clay of which the ordinary people are made; but the restraints and restrictions soon made a havoc of his nervous system, and when he shut himself up in his fine room it was less often to improve his understanding of religion than to sulk and bemoan his fate.
One night, immediately after dinner, when he had thus retired to sulk, he was presently aware of a knocking on his door, and of his father's voice asking permission to enter.
"Hope I'm not interrupting anything important, Mark," said the Reverend Mr. Eaton, "but I've been thinking that you haven't been quite yourself lately and—well, the truth is I haven't been quite
