“O dear, no, sir! Far from it. He was a brave soldier, and does not know what cowardice is, one way or another. I hope we all approve frankness and fair play; and therefore, sir, if I have your leave, I will declare to him for his encouragement that you are on his side, and will represent to him, as faithfully as I can, the views which you have done me the honour to explain.” “I was not aware,” said my father, laughing, “that I had put you in possession of my views. They are no secret, however, and every one may know them who wishes it.” With a compliment to my father’s condescension, the barber withdrew. ---------------------------- CHAPTER II. GEORGE GRAY’S WAY OF LIVING. We happened about this time to want an errand-boy, and looked round among the cottagers’ families to see who were the poorest or the most burdened with young children, that we might offer the place where it would be most acceptable. My brothers and I were willing to teach reading and writing to the lad that should be chosen, for there was no chance of his having learned so much beforehand; and my mother hoped she should have patience to bear with the dulness and awkwardness common to most of the children of the village, and to train him to be not only an honest, but an intelligent servant. My mother went with us one day to the cottage of George Gray, a labourer, who had eight children, and but small wages to maintain them upon, and who would probably be very glad to send his eldest boy to service. The children were, as usual, at play near the cottage. Billy, the eldest, was mounted on a donkey, while three or four of the little ones were attempting to drive the animal on by beating him with sticks and bunches of furze. “Do look at that stupid animal,” cried Frederick. “Why does he not canter away with the boy instead of standing to be beaten in that manner?” “He is heavily clogged,” said my mother. Before the words were spoken, Frederick and Arthur were off at full speed, crying, “Holla! holla! down with your sticks. How can you beat the poor animal so when you see he is clogged, and can’t move a step with any one on his back?” “He’ll go well enough sometimes,” said one of the children, raising his bunch of furze for another blow. “Stop!”—cried Arthur. “Don’t you see that if he moves a step, down goes his head, and the rider slips off.” One would have thought the donkey knew what was passing; for the next time he was touched, he stooped his head, kicked his hind-feet high in the air, and threw Billy to some distance. Away scampered the tormentors: my brothers laughed, and Billy got up whimpering and ashamed. “Well, Billy,” said my mother, “you have had riding enough for to-day; and to-morrow you will remember that donkeys cannot run with their legs tied.”