old my calling was
decided on. My mother would have liked to make a priest of me and at
that time I should have consented joyfully; but my father would not
agree, and as we had an uncle who was making a great deal of money as
a Rhetor, my father accepted a proposal from him that I should devote
myself to that career. So I went from one teacher to another and made
good progress in the schools.

"Till my twentieth year I continued to live with my parents, and during
my many hours of leisure I was free to do or leave undone whatever I had
a fancy for; and this was always something medical, if that is not too
big a word. I was but a lad of twelve when this fancy first took me, and
that through pure accident. Of course I was fond of wandering about the
workshops, and there they kept a magpie, a quaint little bird, which my
mother had fed out of compassion. It could say 'Blockhead,' and call
my name and a few other words, and it seemed to like the noise, for it
always would fly off to where the smiths were hammering and filing their
loudest, and whenever it perched close to one of the anvils there were
sure to be mirthful faces over the shaping and scraping and polishing.
For many years its sociable ways made it a favorite; but one day it got
caught in a vice and its left leg was broken. Poor little creature!"

The old man stooped to wipe his eyes unseen, but he went on without
pausing:

"It fell on its back and looked at me so pathetically that I snatched
the tongs out of the bellows-man's hand--for he was going to put an end
to its sufferings in all kindness--and, picking it up gently, I made up
my mind I would cure it. Then I carried the bird into my own room, and
to keep it quiet that it might not hurt itself, I tied it down to a
frame that I contrived, straightened its little leg, warmed the injured
bone by sucking it, and strapped it to little wooden splints. And behold
it really set: the bird got quite well and fluttered about the workshops
again as sound as before, and whenever it saw me it would perch upon my
shoulder and peck very gently at my hair with its sharp beak.

"From that moment I could have found it in me to break the legs of every
hen in the yard, that I might set them again; but I thought of something
better. I went to the barbers and told them that if any one had a bird,
a dog, or a cat, with a broken limb, he might bring it to me, and that
I was prepared to cure all these injuries gratis; they migh