asure in causing his sun to shine is that--being wofully
near its setting--it will produce certain long fantastic shadows. He
wants to cast my shadow, I suppose, over Theodore; but fortunately I am
not altogether an opaque body. Since Theodore was taken ill he has been
into his room but once, and has sent him none but a dry little message
or two. I, too, have been much less attentive than I should have wished
to be; but my time has not been my own. It has been, every moment of it,
at the disposal of my host. He actually runs after me; he devours me; he
makes a fool of himself, and is trying hard to make one of me. I find
that he will bear--that, in fact, he actually enjoys--a sort of
unexpected contradiction. He likes anything that will tickle his fancy,
give an unusual tone to our relations, remind him of certain historical
characters whom he thinks he resembles. I have stepped into Theodore's
shoes, and done--with what I feel in my bones to be very inferior skill
and taste--all the reading, writing, condensing, transcribing and
advising that he has been accustomed to do. I have driven with the
_bonhomme_; played chess and cribbage with him; beaten him, bullied him,
contradicted him; forced him into going out on the water under my
charge. Who shall say, after this, that I haven't done my best to
discourage his advances, put myself in a bad light? As yet, my efforts
are vain; in fact they quite turn to my own confusion. Mr. Sloane is so
thankful at having escaped from the lake with his life that he looks
upon me as a preserver and protector. Confound it all; it's a bore! But
one thing is certain, it can't last forever. Admit that he _has_ cast
Theodore out and taken me in. He will speedily discover that he has made
a pretty mess of it, and that he had much better have left well enough
alone. He likes my reading and writing now, but in a month he will begin
to hate them. He will miss Theodore's better temper and better
knowledge--his healthy impersonal judgment. What an advantage that
well-regulated youth has over me, after all! I am for days, he is for
years; he for the long run, I for the short. I, perhaps, am intended for
success, but he is adapted for happiness. He has in his heart a tiny
sacred particle which leavens his whole being and keeps it pure and
sound--a faculty of admiration and respect. For him human nature is
still a wonder and a mystery; it bears a divine stamp--Mr. Sloane's
tawdry composition as well as