"Of Arthur Knox, to be sure; who was my school fellow, and to whom I lent half my pocket money one quarter—which, by the by, he has never returned to me. There's no saying how many scrapes I've helped that Arthur out of, for he was always getting into scrapes. And now—would you believe it—he passed me to-day in the street as if he had quite forgotten me. A dead cut, if ever there was one." "Perhaps he did not see you," suggested Mrs. Burns. "Oh, but he did though," cried Eddy, quickly, "I caught his eye as we met. But he has lately come in to some money, and that has turned his head, I suppose; and he was walking with some grandly dressed folk; I fancy he did not choose they should know that I was an acquaintance of his. Oh, I hate ingratitude of all things. A man may be honest, pleasant, kind—anything that you like, but once show me that he's ungrateful, and I would not care ever to set eyes upon him again." "Ingratitude is hateful, Eddy, and yet—" "Oh, don't you try to defend Arthur Knox!" exclaimed the lad, with increased impatience of manner; "why, I once sat up a whole night to nurse him, and that's not what every one would do, I can tell you. I really cared for the fellow, and that makes his conduct the harder to bear. To cut me dead in the streets! Did you ever know any being so ungrateful?" "I know a youth," replied Mrs. Burns, "who has, I think, shown himself to be quite as ungrateful as Arthur." "I can hardly believe it," said Eddy. "You shall hear and judge for yourself. A youth—I need not give you his name—had incurred a very heavy debt, which no efforts of his own would ever enable him to pay. There was nothing before him but, utter ruin, when a friend, who knew and pitied his distress, before he had even been asked to relieve, came forward and freely offered to pay not a part only, but the whole of the debt. But the sacrifice was great to him who made it; the generous Friend who had once been possessed of great wealth brought himself to poverty and want, and for years endured the greatest hardships, on account of his kindness to another." "What wonderful goodness!" cried Eddy. "Nor was this all," continued Mrs. Burns. "The Benefactor adopted the youth as his son, gave him his own name; provided him with food, clothing, lodging, all that he really required; and when the lad was old enough, placed him in a situation in which he would be able comfortably to earn his living." "Now that was a friend!" exclaimed Eddy. "And what return did this youth make for such unheard of kindness?" "I grieve to say," replied Mrs. Burns, "that I believe that the youth almost entirely forgot the Benefactor to whom he owed everything. His Friend desired him to come to his house—but that house appeared to be the very last place which the lad cared to enter. Months, perhaps years, would pass without his crossing the threshold. Letters received from his Benefactor were never opened by the youth, he thought it a weariness even to read them."