next. So was his father. They had always been on easy and pleasant terms with each other. John had always seemed a very satisfactory kind of son to the Reverend Mr. Eaton, and to John the Reverend Mr. Eaton had always seemed a satisfactory kind of father. But to meet as runaway and pursuer was a situation for which neither had a precedent in actual experience. Presently Mr. Eaton said:
"It seems best for you to be in communication with some one member of the family. You wouldn't want us not to know where you were or how you were getting on."
John drew closer to his father and spoke in a lowered, anxious voice. "Then you aren't going to order me back home?"
"Would you go if I did order you to?" The Reverend Mr. Eaton was smiling a little tremulously.
"I don't know," said John.
"Well," said his father, "I don't believe I ever ordered anybody to do anything, and I'm not likely to begin now. It may be that you are planning to do what is best for you. Travel and the companionship of men wouldn't have hurt me any at your age. But it is better for you to go to sea with my consent and approval than without it."
"Of course it is," said John. "It—it's wonder-
