rply over the bleak hills--where there are no trees
to break its violence,--the sheep huddle under the shelter of the
roughly-built stone walls, and even lovers of the picturesque would at
that season prefer a more level and wooded country. The farm of Mr
Humphreys was situated about a mile from Castleton. It consisted of 100
acres or so of good land in the bottom, and of five or six times as much
upland grazing on the hills. Mr Humphreys owned as well as farmed his
land, and so might have claimed, had he chosen, the title of
gentleman-farmer; but he himself would have scoffed at such an idea. He
was a hard-working, practical farmer, about over his ground from morning
to night, save when the hounds met within easy distance in winter; then
he would mount "Robin," who served alike as hunter, or hack, or to drive
in the neat dog-cart to Buxton market; and, although there were many
handsomer horses in the field, Mr Humphreys was seldom far off when the
fox was killed.

His family consisted of his wife and two sons, the eldest, Richard, was
about fourteen years old. His brother, John, was three years younger.
Both went to school at Castleton. The younger boy was fond of his
books; he had always been weak and delicate, and, being unable to spend
his time in active exercise out of doors, he was generally to be found
reading by the fire in winter, or lying on the ground in summer under a
tree in the orchard, with his chin on his hand, and the book before him.
Richard had no literary taste; he managed to scrape through his work
and keep a moderate place in his class, somewhere about half-way down;
but he threw his whole heart into outdoor exercise, and was one of the
best bats in the school, although there were many there older by years.
He knew every foot of the hills, could tell every bird by its note, and
knew all about their nests and eggs. Except in school, or perhaps
during the long winter evenings, it was rare indeed to find Dick with a
book in his hand.

"You will never set the Thames on fire, Dick," his father would say to
him.

"I shall never want to, father," he would reply. "I do not see that
learning will ever be much good to me."

"That is a foolish idea, Dick. A great deal of the learning that boys
get at school is of no actual value in pounds, shillings, and pence. It
is not the fact of knowing Latin, and Greek, and mathematics which
benefits a man; but it is the learning of them. It is the discipl