Sir
Edward Seaward's narrative, The Conquest of Peru_, and _The Lives of the
Buccaneers_, with a little _Arabian Nights' Entertainments_ dashed in by
way of pickles or spice. All these formed themselves into a glowing
series of scenes--a sort of panorama of the future, and I lay and
watched in imagination the glorious prospect of river and forest,
mountain and plain, where I was going to win fame and fortune, in a
series of wonderful adventures, such as had never before fallen to the
lot of man.

You will not be surprised to hear that I got up the next morning
feverish and unrefreshed, and I felt quite envious of Tom when I saw him
holding his shortly-cropped bullet head under the spout of the pump in
the back yard, waggling the handle awkwardly as he had what he called "a
sloosh."

For he looked so hale and hearty and fresh, as he looked up on hearing
my step, and cried out to me--

"Lay hold o' the pump-handle, Mas'r Harry, and work it up and down a
bit, it's awkward to do all by yourself."

I felt quite spiteful as I took hold of the polished old handle and
worked at it, meaning to give Tom a regular ducking; and I sent the pure
cold well-water gushing out as he held his head under, letting the
stream come first upon his poll, then upon one ear, then upon the other,
and backing away at last to where he had hung his rough towel upon a
hook in the wall, to seize it and begin to scrub.

"Oh, I say, Mas'r Harry, it's 'evinly," he panted, as he rubbed away.
"Just you try it. Seems to make the strength go rattling through you
like. Have a go: I'll pump."

I hesitated for a moment, and then, feeling that the cold shock would
perhaps clear my heated brain, I threw off my cap and necktie, stripped
my jacket from my shoulders, and, rolling up my sleeves, thrust my head
under the spout, and the next moment was panting and gasping, and
feeling half drowned and confused, as Tom sent the water streaming out
with liberal hand.

"Now then, what Tom-fool's game's this?" said a voice, as I withdrew my
head and held out my hand for the towel; "washing the folly out of your
head, Harry?"

"No, father," I said quietly, as I rubbed away, feeling a refreshing
glow thrill through me as the reaction set in. "I was trying to freshen
myself up after lying awake all night thinking of my future."

"Then you are still harping on that project?" he said quickly.

"Yes, sir; I have quite made up my mind to go."

"What, and leave a