'Tis true that he wore patched pantaloons, which were too short, and an old threadbare jacket; but his linen collar, though coarse, was white; and his shoes, though very old and worn out, were neatly tied with black strings--poverty was stamped upon his attire, but nobility upon his broad expansive brow. A look of manliness which shot from his fine dark eyes, and the firmness which compressed the lip, rather overawed the boys who saw him advancing; but when their mean spirits perceived the poverty of his attire, contempt mastered their temporary fear, and they stood ready for the encounter. "For shame! young gentlemen," said the boy, "couldn't you find your equals in size and age when you attempt such cowardly acts?" "Who are you, sir?" said Harry Castleton, "that you dare speak to your betters in such a tone? take yourself off in a minute, or I'll lay the weight of my cane across your face." "I'm a boy like yourself, young gentleman, but I scorn to attack weak little children in their plays, or to fight with puppies." "Do you dare to call me a puppy?" shouted Harry Castleton, and flying at the boy, he dealt him a violent blow across the face, causing the blood to fly from his nose, and at the same moment, kicking the little wheelbarrow out into the ocean. The little girl with the golden locks had been looking on the scene, but as soon as she saw the blow struck by the young upstart, she flew towards the boy. "Oh, Harry Castleton! aren't you ashamed of yourself! first to disturb these poor little children, and then to make a coward of yourself by attacking a boy that won't fight?" and hastening up to the boy, she took her delicate handkerchief, and wiping his bleeding nose, she said kindly, "I am afraid that you are hurt." "Not much, miss, it's only a trifle;" but as she seated the boy, she perceived the blood gushing from a wound in the temple, that she had not seen before. Running to the surf, she brought the handkerchief back again, and with the most tender, generous care, continued wiping the blood which still kept oozing from the wound. Charles and Harry stood by sneering. "Really, coz," said Charles, "you are making a fool of yourself, waiting upon a beggar boy, as if he were the son of a gentleman." "I don't think that fine clothes always make the gentleman; for I'm sure I've learned this afternoon, that the feelings of a gentleman may lodge under a threadbare jacket; what is your name young gentleman?" continued the child. "My name is Roland Bruce," was the answer. "And mine is Madeline Hamilton," was the frank response. "Why didn't you knock Harry down! I should have been so angry that I'm sure I should have struck back again." "I was very angry, miss, but I've been taught that 'He who mastereth his spirit, is better than he that taketh a city.' "But when you are struck, I think that you ought to defend yourself."