because he was so sweet tempered. Thus he
weathered babyhood, encountered childhood, and
rushed up into boyhood, in a pleasing and
satisfactory manner to all parties, himself included.
He never worried his mother by catching
infectious diseases at wrong times; he went
through the necessary ailments of childhood—
such as measles, whooping-cough, and scarlatina
—with the least possible degree of trouble to
all parties concerned; and caused no anxiety by
having relapses, or taking colds. If he cut his
finger to the bone, no one knew of it, unless any
one chanced to notice the scar. If he fell into
the river, he scrambled out, and dried his own
clothes, by the convenient process of airing them
on his own body. If he fell off a tree, down a
well, over a wall, he picked himself up and bore
his burden of bruises with silent composure. In
addition to these accomplishments, he bore any
amount of other people's work, and seemed rather
to enjoy being "put upon." He was glad to be
obliging, and "gave up" with quite as much zest
as other natures about him delighted to "take
all." Once, and once only, did a slight attack of
ill temper and discontent assail him. His father,
without any previous notice, without the shadow
of a consultation as to any faint bias on Dick's
part, but just because "he was Dick, and would
be sure to do it, whether he liked it or not,"
placed him, at the age of sixteen years, as the
junior of all the junior clerks, in a Bank.

Now, Dick was a country boy, born and
brought up in truly rural fashion. His father
having a small estate, farmed the greater part of
it himself, and, being a practical man, did nothing
by halves. His children participated in all that
he did, as much for their own benefit as for his.
The boys were active young farmers from the
time they were breeched; and the girls reared
chickens, and understood the immaculate
cleanliness of a dairy, before they could spell their
own names. So Dick's habits, and what little
idiosyncrasy he had of his own, belonged wholly
to the country.

He was up with the lark, roaming over his
father's premises, and lighting upon all sorts of
charitable things to do. A brood of young
ducks, always erratic, obstinate, and greedy, had
squeezed their mucilaginous little bodies through
nothing, and were out on the loose, their
vigilant foster-mother, "in a fine frenzy," clacking
within the shut-up poultry-house. It was Dick's
business to open the door and give her lost ones
to her cherishing wings; and all the acknowledgment
he got was an unmistakable indication
on the part of the irritated mother that he
alone had been the cause of the separation. He
delighted to stagger under a load of fodder,
taking, as high and invaluable wages, the glad
neigh of the expectant horse, or the gentle soft
low of the cow. He rushed into the matitutinal
quarrel of the bantam-cock and the great
bubbley-jock; he coaxed with crumbs of bread
the shy little pullets, and covertly threw handfuls
of grain to the ostracised cockerels, who dared
not so much as look upon a crumb within sight
of the proud monarch of the poultry-yard.

Having meddled and messed in everything
that was going on, to the high delight of
himself, if of nothing else, Dick would return to
the house, brush and clean himself with
scrupulous exactness, and place himself ready to
receive his mother's morning kiss on his cool
rosy soap-shining cheeks. After that, he began
the real business of the day; he nursed the
baby, made the tea, cut the bread-and-butter,
administered it, adjusted quarrels, ran the
messages, and took what breakfast he could
between whiles. When he had a few moments
he could call his own, he roamed about, saving
young birds from remorseless kidnappers,
rescuing puppies and kittens from untimely
fates, helping little maidens over high stiles, and
assisting old women to carry fagots of sticks,
assuredly stolen from his father's hedge-rows.

Dick possessed one harmless propensity—
never to see a hill without paying it the
compliment of running to the top of it in so many
minutes, and speeding down to the bottom
again in so many minutes less. He considered
it a duty he owed to society at large, to be able
to say in how short a time society could
approach so much nearer to heaven.

For these reasons, and a thousand more such,
Dick's dismay may be comprehended when he
was suddenly required to exchange breezy hill-
tops and flowery plains, for the high stool,
matching the higher desk, in a dusty cloudy
cobwebby back Bank-office, in a close dull
unsavoury street.

Dick began a remonstrance. For the first
time in his life, there rose to his lips the murmur
of a complaint. The person upon whose ear the
unwonted sound fell, was his younger brother:
called William by his godfathers and
godmothers, Bill by those who had no particular
regard for him, or he for them, and Billy by
the fortunate possessors of what affections
he had. Generally obtuse to everything that
did not concern himself, he was visibly startled
by the unwonted moan, and kindly said, under
the shock of surprise:

"Come, come, old fellow! None of that."

"But I don't like the Bank, Billy. I am
unhappy; I think I am dreadfully unhappy;
the smell of the place makes me sick; I get
the cramp in my legs from sitting on that
high stool; I am as nervous——"

"Hold hard, Dick; I won't have you say
another word. How dare you talk like that to
me?"

"My dear Billy——"

"Don't dear Billy me. When you know as
well as I do, that if you don't stay at the Bank
I shall have to go there!"

"Oh dear!" ejaculated Dick.

"Oh dear!" mimicked the fast younger
brother. "I wonder you have the heart to hint an
objection, Dick—especially knowing, as you do,
how you hate the Bank. Endangering your
own brother! And you setting up for being
a good-natured fellow, too!"

Dick said no more, but manfully bore up
against smells, cramps, nerves, and headaches,