e to one who would some day bloom into a family
solicitor, that book would keep on forming pictures that were not
illustrations of legal practice in the courts of law. For there one
moment was the big black pond on Elleston Common, where the water lay so
still and deep under the huge elms, and the fat tench and eels every now
and then sent up bubbles of air, dislodged as they disturbed the bottom.

At another time it would be the cricket-field in summer, or the football
on the common in winter, or the ringing ice on the winding river, with
the skates flashing as they sent the white powder flying before the
wind.

Or again, as he stumbled through the opinions of the judge in
"Coopendale _versus_ Drabb's Exors.," the old house and garden would
stand out from the page like a miniature seen on the ground-glass of a
camera; and Tom Blount sighed and his eyes grew dim as he thought of the
old happy days in the pleasant home. For father and mother both had
passed away to their rest; the house was occupied by another tenant; and
he, Tom Blount, told himself that he ought to be very grateful to Uncle
James for taking him into his office, to make a man of him by promising
to have him articled if, during his year of probation, he proved himself
worthy.

"I wouldn't mind its being so dull," he thought, "or my aunt not liking
me, or Sam being so disagreeable, if I could get on--but I can't.
Uncle's right, I suppose, in what he says. He ought to know. I'm only
a fool; and it doesn't seem to matter how I try, I can't get on."

Just then a door opened, letting in a broad band of sunshine full of
dancing motes, and at the same time Samuel Brandon, a lad of about the
same age as Tom, but rather slighter of build, but all the same more
manly of aspect. He was better dressed too, and wore a white flower in
his button-hole, and a very glossy hat. One glove was off, displaying a
signet-ring, and he brought with him into the dingy office a strong
odour of scent, whose source was probably the white pocket-handkerchief
prominently displayed outside his breast-pocket.

"Hullo, bumpkin!" he cried. "How's Tidd getting on?"

"Very slowly," said Tom. "I wish you'd try and explain what this bit
means."

"Likely! Think I'm going to find you in brains. Hurry on and peg away.
Shovel it in, and think you are going to be Lord Chancellor some day.
Guv'nor in his room?"

"No; he has gone on down to the Court. Going out?"

"Yes; up the