s of his Russian friend, and
there worked hard at the language.

If Mr Western could have seen him and his earnestness, he would have
been agape with amazement. This his idle adopted son? This the wilful
lad who would never settle down to work, and never take a leading place
in his class at school? Could this young soldier--this fine, stalwart
young fellow (even he would have been obliged to admit it)--who slaved
so many hours day and night at the dryest of dry and uninteresting
subjects, be really the lad who had always gone contrary to his wishes,
the unmanageable boy full of daring and mischief, who had occasioned the
vicar of Riddington so many anxious and bitter thoughts? To him it
would have been almost beyond belief. His dull and rigidly narrow mind
could not have grasped the change. But Joe Sweetman, what would he have
said? How he would have chuckled, with just a suspicion of pride and
elation, and blurted out: "Didn't I tell you so. Leave the lad alone.
Wild and unmanageable? Pshaw! Look at him now. His heart's in the
right place. He's got hold of a subject he's interested in, and he's
got the backbone to stick to it, though it means a lot of hard work."

And Phil had indeed the backbone and perseverance to continue to work at
the language. A month passed, and he had apparently made no progress,
and the alphabet was still almost a troublesome maze to him. But when
some weeks more had flown by he could join a few words together in the
semblance of sense, though he was still far from being able to carry on
a conversation. By the middle of February, 1854, the year in which the
eventful Crimean war began, he could even acknowledge to himself that he
was getting on, and that a little more practice would find him fairly
proficient. Never for a moment did he forget this ambition of his, this
self-imposed task, to master the most difficult of languages. Who is
there who cannot imagine the labour it meant, the constant grinding, the
late hours when, beneath a flickering gas-jet or a smoking oil lantern,
he opened his book and devoured its contents till his eyes were almost
falling from his head? Few, indeed, would saddle themselves willingly
with such a labour, but to Phil to take up a subject, however trivial,
was to succeed, and that very success was the reward he received. The
alphabet and more difficult words having now been mastered, the work was
far more pleasant, and invited him to persevere.