“Ben! why, how did you get yours undone, man? what’s in your parcel?—I wonder what is in mine! I wish I could get this string off—I must cut it.” “Oh, no,” said Ben, who now had undone the last knot of his parcel, and who drew out the length of string with exultation, “don’t cut it, Hal,—look what a nice cord this is, and yours is the same: it’s a pity to cut it; ‘_Waste not_, _want not_!’ you know.” “Pooh!” said Hal, “what signifies a bit of packthread?” “It is whip cord,” said Ben. “Well, whip cord! what signifies a bit of whip cord! you can get a bit of whip cord twice as long as that for twopence; and who cares for twopence! Not I, for one! so here it goes,” cried Hal, drawing out his knife; and he cut the cord, precipitately, in sundry places. “Lads! have you undone the parcels for me?” said Mr. Gresham, opening the parlour door as he spoke. “Yes, sir,” cried Hal; and he dragged off his half cut, half entangled string—“here’s the parcel.” “And here’s my parcel, uncle; and here’s the string,” said Ben. “You may keep the string for your pains,” said Mr. Gresham. “Thank you, sir,” said Ben: “what an excellent whip cord it is!” “And you, Hal,” continued Mr. Gresham, “you may keep your string too, if it will be of any use to you.” “It will be of no use to me, thank you, sir,” said Hal. “No, I am afraid not, if this be it,” said his uncle, taking up the jagged knotted remains of Hal’s cord. A few days after this, Mr. Gresham gave to each of his nephews a new top. “But how’s this?” said Hal; “these tops have no strings; what shall we do for strings?” “I have a string that will do very well for mine,” said Ben; and he pulled out of his pocket the fine, long, smooth string, which had tied up the parcel. With this he soon set up his top, which spun admirably well. “Oh, how I wish I had but a string,” said Hal. “What shall I do for a string? I’ll tell you what, I can use the string that goes round my hat!” “But then,” said Ben, “what will you do for a hat-band?” “I’ll manage to do without one,” said Hal, and he took the string of his hat for his top. It soon was worn through, and he split his top by driving the pea too tightly into it. His cousin Ben let him set up his the next day; but Hal was not more fortunate or more careful when he meddled with other people’s things than when he managed his own. He had scarcely played half an hour before he split it, by driving the peg too violently. Ben bore this misfortune with good humour. “Come,” said he, “it can’t be helped; but give me the string because _that_ may still be of use for something else.” It happened some time afterwards that a lady, who had been intimately acquainted with Hal’s mother at Bath—that is to say, who had frequently met her at the card-table during the winter—now arrived at Clifton. She was informed by his mother that Hal was at Mr. Gresham’s, and her sons, who were _friends_ of his, came to see him, and invited him to spend the next day with them.