m in their private theatricals.

Crawley was one boy amongst a rather large family of girls; the father
was dead, and the mother, though able to live in ordinary comfort, was
far from rich. She could not indulge in carriages and horses, or men-
servants, for example, and she lived near London for the sake of her
daughters' education. So that Crawley had never had an opportunity of
gaining proficiency in those sports which cannot be indulged in without
a good deal of expenditure, and he looked upon hunting and shooting as
sublime delights far out of his reach at present, though perhaps he
might attain to them by working very hard, some day. His ambition was
to enter the army, not that he thought drill any particular fun, or
desired the destruction of his fellow-creatures, or ever indulged in
dreams of medals, bars, triumphal arches, and the thanks of parliament,
but simply because he might get to India, stick pigs, and shoot tigers.
Shooting! hunting! Gould's words made his nerves tingle from head to
foot with excitement. And he had thought the fellow who now offered him
a taste of such pleasures a muff, a bore, a sycophant, and done his best
to avoid him! How wrong it is to have prejudices!

"Well, then, when will you come?" asked Gould.

"As soon as it is convenient to have me after Christmas," replied
Crawley. "I must spend the Christmas week at home, you know; but then I
am free. I should tell you, though, that I cannot shoot or ride a
little bit. I have never had any practice, and you will find me an
awful duffer."

"All right; fellows always say that."

"Yes, I know they do sometimes, in mock modesty. But in my case it's a
fact, and I warn you, that I may not spoil your fun."

"My dear fellow," said Gould, "you could not do that unless your want of
skill were catching. I should be glad if I could put you up to a
wrinkle or two."

"On those terms, then, I shall be very glad to come."

"That is all right."

What a happy stroke for Gould! he had come to call Crawley "my dear
fellow" already.

The idea of his new friend putting him up to a "wrinkle or two" rather
tickled Crawley. Gould was so poor a performer at cricket, fives, lawn-
tennis, football everything which required a ready hand, a quick eye,
and firm nerves--that Crawley could not imagine his beating him even
with the advantage of previous knowledge. Yet he had not exaggerated
his own deficiencies. Bring his gun, indeed! The only g