He is, after his fashion, an observer of the golden rule, for although he is constantly annoying and exasperating people by his easy-going ways, he is never afflicted if others do _to him_ as he does to them. He goes through life with the notion that every one is as complaisant and comfortable as himself. "Easy-going-ness" (if one may coin a word for the occasion) is, many people would say, a combination of selfishness and stupidity, but I think such people judge rather too hardly of Ned and his compeers. It's all very well for some of us, who perhaps are of an active turn of mind, to talk about curing oneself of this fault; but perhaps, if we knew all, we should find that it would be about as easy as for a fair-complexioned person to make himself dark. Ned's disposition is due more to his constitution than his upbringing, and those who are blindly intolerant of his ways do him a wrong. I'm sure he himself wishes he were as smart as some boys he sees, but he can't be, and you might just as well try to lash an elephant into a gallop as Ned into a flurry. It is generally found that what he does he does well, which in a measure makes up for the length of time he takes in doing it; he is good- natured, brave, harmless, and cheery, and has lots of friends, whom he allows full liberty both to abuse and laugh at him (and what can friends want more?) and for the rest, he's neither vicious nor an idiot; and if nobody were worse than he is, the world would perhaps be rather better than it is. An artificial "easy-going-ness" is undoubtedly a vice. It's a forgery, however, easily detected, and generally brings its own punishment. I advise none of my readers to try it on. If they are naturally energetic and smart, they have a much better chance of rising in the world than Ned has; but let them, when they laugh at Ned and abuse him, remember the fable of the hare and the tortoise. I must just tell one more story of Ned in conclusion. One night our whole school was startled by an alarm of "Fire!" We sprang from our beds, and, without waiting to dress, rushed to the quarter from which the cry had proceeded. It was only too true; a barn at one end of the buildings was in flames, and there seemed every prospect of the school itself catching fire. We hurried back in a panic towards the staircase leading to the front door, and in doing so discovered Ned was not with us. One of us darted off to the dormitory, where he lay in bed sound asleep. A rough shake roused him. "What's the row?" he drawled, stretching himself. "Get up quick, Ned; there's a fire!" "Where?" asked Ned, without stirring. "In the doctor's wing." The doctor's wing was that farthest removed from our dormitories. Ned yawned. "Then it couldn't possibly reach here for half an hour. Call us again in twenty minutes, Ben, there's a good fellow!" CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE BOY WHO IS "NEVER WRONG."