also taken to himself, for an essay on 'Streets,' the
prize for English Composition. And, thirdly, he had been chosen to
recite a Shaksperean piece at the ceremony of prize-giving. It was the
success in Composition which tickled his father's pride, for was not
this a proof of heredity? Aunt Annie flattered herself on the Good
Conduct prize. Mrs. Knight exulted in everything, but principally in the
prospective sight of her son at large on the platform delivering
Shakspere to a hushed, attentive audience of other boys' parents. It was
to be the apotheosis of Henry, was that night!

'Will you hear me, father?' Henry requested meekly, when he had finished
the first preparations for his big day, and looked at the time, and cut
a piece of skin from the palm of his hand, to the horror of his mother
and aunt. 'Will you hear me, father?'

(No! I assure you he was not a detestable little prig. He had been
brought up like that.)

And Mr. Knight took Staunton's Shakspere from the bookcase and opened it
at _Othello_, Act I., scene iii., and Henry arose and began to explain
to the signiors of Venice in what manner Desdemona had fallen in love
with him and he with Desdemona; how he told Desdemona that even from his
boyish days he had experienced moving accidents by flood and field, and
had been sold into slavery, and all about the cannibals and the--but he
came to utter grief at the word Anthropophagi.'

'An-thro-poph-a-gi,' said his father.

'It's a very difficult word, I'm sure,' said his mother.

Difficult or not, Henry mastered it, and went on to the distressful
strokes his youth had suffered, and then to Desdemona's coy hint:

'Upon this hint I spoke--spake, I mean;
She loved me for the dangers I had passed,
And I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used.
Here comes the lady; let her witness it.'

'Have a bit of toast, my pet,' Mrs. Knight suggested.

The door opened at the same moment.

'Enter Desdemona,' said a voice. 'Now do go light on the buttered toast,
Othello. You know you'll be ill.'

It was Cousin Tom. He was always very late for breakfast.

CHAPTER V

MARRONS GLACES

And Tom was always being inconvenient, always producing intellectual
discomfort. On this occasion there can be no doubt that if Tom had not
come in just then Henry would have accepted and eaten the buttered
toast, and would have enjoyed it; and his father, mother