This inability to do his lessons so well as other boys was a deep and lasting grief to Hugh. Though he had in reality improved much since he came to Crofton, and was now and then cheered by some proof of this, his general inferiority in this respect was such as to mortify him every day of his life, and sometimes to throw him almost into despair. He saw that everybody pitied him for the loss of his foot, but not for this other trouble, while he felt this to be rather the worst of the two; and all the more because he was not sure himself whether or not he could help it, as every one else seemed certain that he might. When he said his prayer in his bed, he earnestly entreated that he might be able to bear the one trouble, and be delivered from the other; and when, as the spring came on, he was found by one friend or another lying on the grass with his face hidden, he was often praying with tears for help in doing this duty, when he was thought to be grieving that he could not play at leaping or foot-ball, like other boys. And yet, the very next evening, when the whole school were busy over their books, and there was nothing to interfere with his work, he would pore over his lesson without taking in half the sense, while his fancy was straying everywhere but where it ought;--perhaps to little Harry, or the Temple Gardens at home, or to Cape Horn, or Japan--some way farther off still. It did not often happen now, as formerly, that he forgot before morning a lesson well learned over-night. He was aware that now everything depended on whether he was once sure of his lesson; but the difficulty was in once being sure of it. Finding Phil's kindness continue through the first weeks and months of the half-year, Hugh took courage at last to open his mind pretty freely to his brother, offering to do anything in the world for Phil, if he would only hear him his lessons every evening till he could say them perfect. Phil was going to plead that he had no time, when Hugh popped out-- "The thing is that it does not help me to say them to just anybody. Saying them to somebody that I am afraid of is what I want." "Why, you are not afraid of me?" said Phil. "Yes I am--rather." "What for?" "Oh, because you are older;--and you are so much more of a Crofton boy than I am--and you are very strict--and altogether--" "Yes, you will find me pretty strict, I can tell you," said Phil, unable to restrain a complacent smile on finding that somebody was afraid of him. "Well, we must see what we can do. I will hear you to-night, at any rate."