he
world. Then my mother's teaching was simple, direct and wise, and had
become incorporated in every action of my will and impulse of my heart.
I was to love and obey my God, never to tell a lie, never to do a mean
action, never to be disloyal to a friend nor unfair to a foe. Still, if
Harry and I were tolerably good, one of the reasons which acted most
powerfully to restrain us from committing faults was our wish to stand
well with Jack: he never scolded, never gave advice, but if he were
displeased with our conduct we could not eat or sleep. Once Harry
committed a trifling error--to call it a wickedness seems a grotesque
exaggeration now--and Jack did not like it.

"Of course, Harry," he said coldly, "you can do as you please, but I am
disappointed in you."

Harry rushed out of doors, and could not be found all night: he slept on
the turf beneath his cousin's window, and the rain drenched him and he
took a violent cold.

"You were foolish," observed Jack, smiling coldly.

"But do you forgive me now?"

"I forgive nothing: a bad action is a bad action. But I could not sleep
when I did not know where you were: I got up and studied, for I was so
tormented."

But Jack was so equable, so gentle! There was never a trace of harshness
in his treatment of us. Indeed, it was only in his unfailing rectitude
that he surpassed us, for, our senior although he was, he could barely
keep up in our classes. Harry was the quickest of the three, but with a
mortal hatred of hard study: he had an easy capacity for mastering
knowledge without tedious assiduity; and, as he was resolved to be a
painter, he held all mental acquirements as subsidiary to his
master-passion for gaining dexterity and skill with his pencil. He could
have done anything at his books had he expended any high endeavor, but
he always let his chances slip by him, and allowed me to carry off the
prizes which he might far more easily have won. I was by nature and
habit rigidly conscientious, and discontented with myself unless I did
my best. I hated cheap successes, and I was shy of praise, as my
performances always fell short of my ideals. Mine was no studious
disposition, and I had plenty of physical inclination to shirk lessons
and lie beneath the forest boughs watching the birds all day; but there
were detached lines that I used to repeat to myself aloud over and over
again in lonely places, caring far less for their meaning than for the
immeasurable music of t