broken toy or instrument of amusement far
better than the lads themselves could do it.
He was not very particular, either, on the
subject of caricatures, of which several
personal ones adorned the walls of the school.
There was one which represented him as
crushed to a pancake beneath a pyramid of
ancient authors. In another he was
represented as a conjuror, about to swallow the
ancients bodily, in the form of a string of
sausages; while a third depicted him, attired
in a toga, flogging a youth, who was weeping
very blotchy tears, up the side of an almost
perpendicular hill—Parnassus, I presume.

But while my father was pluming himself
with the idea of employing his future leisure
hours in imparting to his two children a
sound classical education, the tenor of his
meditations was disturbed by the birth of
another son—I, Caleb Redfern, to wit; and
the catalogue was closed by the birth, at
brief intervals, of my sisters, Helen and
Kate.

My father took more snuff than ever—
grew fonder of the society of the gentlemen
of the toga, and did with one suit of clothes
less a year. My mother no longer gave
away her old gowns, and had a sharper eye
after affairs in the kitchen.

I have mentioned my cousin, Philip Delmer,
as forming one of the group in our
family-picture. He was the only child of my
father's only sister. Both his parents died at
Jamaica, of yellow fever, when he was only
two years old. A short time before he died,
my uncle contrived to pen a few broken
lines, bequeathing Philip to the care of his
brother-in-law, in England, and the child
arrived at our house some six months afterwards,
having been brought over in charge of a
captain's wife. My parents received the little
stranger as though he were another child of
their own; and he grew up among us, treated
in every respect as one of ourselves.

Neville alone was disposed to regard him
with a somewhat jealous eye, and to consider
that he usurped the place which he himself
should have held in his parents' affections;
an opinion most unfounded. Phillip was
nearly two years older than Neville, and his
abilities were certainly superior to those of
my brother; he got on better at school, and
put Neville's humble acquirements into the
shade; a fact which, probably, first
induced Neville to regard him with jealousy
and distrust.  As a boy, Philip was grave
and quiet beyond his years with a manner
cold and haughty towards all except those
whith whom he was very intimate, so that
he was not generally liked; but we who
lived in daily communion with him, felt
and appreciated his really fine qualities. To
my parents he was the most dutiful and loving;
no son could have been more so.

The first shadow that darkened our hitherto
happy hearth was the death of my little sister
Kate. I was six years old at that time. A
short and painful illness, a calm death, and
a solemn funeral, when the snow lay thick
on the ground.  How it affected us all! For
long afterwards, through the dark frosty nights
of that winter, in the more cheerful nights
of spring, and even in the hot windless nights
of summer, we children used to whisper to
each other about the strange mystery of
death, and wonder what the heaven was
like where they told us little Katie now
lived; and whether she ever watched the
bright stars, as we did, when they glinted in
through our bedroom window.

CHAPTER THE SECOND

When I go back in memory to the period
of my childhood, it seem to me to be marked
by certain epochs or points in time, which,
owing to some circumstance or event that
impressed me at the moment of its
occurrence, still live vividly in my recollections,
and raise themselves above the dull surface
by which they are surrounded. Like
scattered lamps, seen on a dark night, they shine,
showing here and there a speck of brightness,
while the wide spaces intervening are
full of vague shadows and dim forms, that
need the daylight to form them, into familiar
things. With such an epoch, which claims
to itself a prominent place in my recollections,
I have now to deal.

It was little Olive Graile's birthday. Olive,
only child of Doctor Graile, oldest medical
practitioner in Dingwell; and there was to
be a children's party to celebrate the event.
We were all invited, as a matter of course;
for the doctor and my father were very intimate,
and Olive was a frequent visitor at our
house. We children were to go early in the
afternoon, and our parents were to follow, so
as to be in time for tea. It was a bleak day,
towards the end of October—a windy day
withal, as I remember, seeing that it required
the united strength of Helen and myself to
close the heavy front door after us as we went
out. The sere leaves were blown thickly
round our heads as we walked down the lane;
and Philip and Neville went scouring off
with merry shouts, chasing them as they fell
from the trees. Helen seemed, from her
eyes, as if she would like to join them, but
restrained herself, clasping her hands tightly
in her muff, and walking on in silence like a
staid little princess.

Ruth took my hand in hers, and walked
beside me all the way; for I was only just
recovering from a severe cold, and still wore
a piece of flannel round my neck, which I
was pained to think I should be unable to
hide from the strange children at Doctor
Graile's. Perhaps they might laugh at me!
What should I do in such a case? I felt
myself blushing to the eyes with shame when
I thought of it.

Doctor Graile received us in his merry,
kindly way, at the door. He picked me out
in a moment. "Well, young gentleman,"