BOY. I can have apples at home. As for cake, I don’t want that. My mother makes me a pie now and then, which is as good. MR. L. Would you not like a knife to cut sticks? BOY. I have one. Here it is. Brother Tom gave it to me. MR. L. Your shoes are full of holes. Don’t you want a new pair? BOY. I have a better pair for Sundays. MR. L. But these let in water. BOY. I do not mind that, sir. MR. L. Your hat is all torn, too. BOY. I have a better one at home. MR. L. What do you do if you are hungry before it is time to go home? BOY. I sometimes eat a raw turnip. MR. L. But if there are none? BOY. Then I do as well as I can without. I work on and never think of it. MR. L. I am glad to see that you are so contented. Were you ever at school? BOY. No, sir. But father means to send me next winter. MR. L. You will want books then. BOY. Yes, sir; each boy has a spelling-book, a reader, and a Testament. MR. L. Then I will give them to you. Tell your father so, and that it is because you are an obliging, contented little boy. BOY. I will, sir. Thank you. MR. L. Good-bye, Peter. BOY. Good-morning, sir. One other story that has seemed particularly to impress itself upon my mind was about two boys, one named James and the other named John. I believe that these were their names, though possibly one was William and the other Henry. Anyhow, their uncle gave them each a parcel of books. James took out his pocket-knife and cut the fine whipcord that bound his package, but John slowly and patiently untied his string and then rolled it into a nice little ball (the way a nice little boy would do) and carefully put it in his pocket. Some years after, there was a great shooting tournament, and James and John were both there with their bows and arrows; it was late in the game, and so far it was a tie. James seized his last arrow and bent his bow; the string broke and the prize was lost. The book does not tell us that in this emergency John offered his extra piece of whipcord to his brother; instead, the model prudent brother took up his last arrow, bent his bow, when, lo and behold! his string broke too; whereupon John reached into his pocket and pulled out the identical cord that he had untied so long ago, put it on the bow, and of course won the prize! That miserable story must have cost me several years of valuable time, for ever since I first read it I have always tried to untie every knot that I could find; and although I have ever carefully tucked away all sorts of odd strings into my pockets, I never attended a shooting-match or won a prize in all my life.