"It might do at great deal of harm." "In what way?" "By hurting my good name." "I don't understand you." "I might be seen going in or coming out by some one who know me, and who might take it for granted that my visit, was for liquor." "Well, suppose he did? He would be wrong in his inference; and what need you care? A clear conscience, I have heard my uncle say, is better than any man's opinion, good or bad." "I prefer the clear conscience and the good opinion together, if I can secure both at the same time," said Ralph. "O, you're too afraid of other people's opinions," replied Jacob, in a sneering manner. "As for me, I'll try to do right and be right, and not bother myself about what people may think. Come, are you going to join me in a plate of oysters?" "No." "Very well. Good by. I'm sorry you're afraid to do right for fear somebody may think you're going to do wrong," and Jacob Peters descended to the oyster-cellar, while Ralph Gilpin passed on his way homeward. As Jacob entered the saloon he met a man who looked at him narrowly, and as Jacob thought, with surprise. He had seen this man before, but did not know his name. A few weeks afterwards, the two boys, who were neighbor, sat together planning a row-boat excursion on the Schuylkill. "We'll have Harry Elder, and Dick Jones, and Tom Forsyth," said Jacob. "No, not Tom Forsyth," objected Ralph. "Why not? He's a splendid rower." "I don't wish to be seen in his company," said Ralph. "He doesn't bear a good character." "O, well; that's nothing to us." "I think it is a great deal to us. We are judged by the company we keep."