Felicita remained firm to her resolution that Felix should have nothing to do with his father's business, and the boy himself had decided in his very childhood that he would follow in the footsteps of his ancestor, Felix Merle, the brave pastor of the Jura.

There was no hope of having him to train up for the Old Bank.

But every summer they spent a few days with him, in the very house where their father had lived, and where Felix could still associate him with the wainscoted rooms and the terraced garden.

When Felix talked of his father and asked questions about him, Mr.Clifford always spoke of him in a regretful and affectionate tone.

No hint reached the boy that his father's memory was not revered in his native town.
"There is no stone to my father in the church," he said, one Sunday, after he had been looking again and again at a tablet to his grandfather on the church walls.
"No; but I had a granite cross put over his grave in Engelberg," answered Mr.Clifford; "when you can go to Switzerland you'll have no trouble in finding it.