I now look back and see with what foresight and kindness Mr. Percy arranged to keep me in his home until I had become accustomed to my new mode of life before sending me out to fight my own battles. Scarcely a day passed but he examined me in my studies and seemed to take great pleasure in watching my progress. He had a special delight in his large garden, trimming and training his trees and plants, particularly those of a new kind, and it appeared to me that I was one of his plants that he was watching and developing. I needed no urging, as his pleased, intense interest made me respond with eagerness to his desires. Clothes were made for me until I hardly knew where to put them, and it is not improper to say that I enjoyed practicing in them. He enjoyed making me pleasant surprises. I recall the great delight I experienced when one morning, dressing, I found in my waistcoat pocket a beautiful watch with chain and charm attached. I fairly danced for joy and I am not even now ashamed to say, I cried. I had to wait awhile for I hardly knew how to meet him. At length I went out with a joyful fear. I saw him watching me with his paper up before him pretending to read, with a merry twinkle in his eyes and a quizzical expression on his face waiting to see what I would do. “O, Mr. Percy!” I exclaimed, “you are too good, too kind to me!” and I threw myself sobbing upon the sofa, shedding tears of joy. How could I do otherwise? “All right, Charles,” he said, “all right, my boy! Time is everything, improve it. Watch your watch! never be late for anything good, and always keep your appointments as you would your honor.” Was I not proud? Where is the boy that is not proud of his first watch? If he is not, then there is something wrong in the make-up of that boy. How often during many days that followed, I took that watch from my pocket, let any boy who has had a watch answer. That watch has been the companion of my life, and now lies on the table before me. Many a time as I have looked at it during all these years it has recalled the expression of the eyes and face of the dearest friend I ever had, as he looked out at me from behind his paper on that memorable morning. Such a man, such a friend, such a benefactor, was he not worthy of all my love, of my worship even? Is it not well for me now an old man, full of years and alas! bowed down with too many sorrows, to cherish with adoration the remembrance of such a friend? The very best of us have so few real, true friends, that we should make all we can of them.