ooks, tin boxes,
and dusty papers, and he gave up the idea.

Often of a night it was like a temptation to him--that intense longing
to be free; and he would sit with a book before him, but his mind
wandering far away, following the adventures of boys of his own age who
had gone away to seek their fortunes, and if they had not found all they
sought, had at least achieved some kind of success.

And how grand it would be, he thought, with his cheeks flushing, to be
independent, and work his own way without encountering day by day his
uncle's sour sneers and reproaches, his aunt's cold looks, and his
cousin's tyranny.

"I could make my way, I know I could," he thought, and the outlook grew
day by day more rosy. Those were pleasant paths, he told himself, that
he wanted to tread, and it never occurred to him that if he went among
strangers they might be harder than his uncle.

But the outcome of these musings was always the same: there was the
stern figure of Duty rising before him to remind him of his promise to
his mother, and with his brow knitting, his hands would clench beneath
table or desk as he softly muttered to himself--

"I'm going to be a lawyer, and I will succeed."

But it has been written by a wise man, "There's a divinity that shapes
our ends, rough-hew them how we will," and Tom Blount was soon to find
out its truth.

Matters had been going very badly at Mornington Crescent, and the boy's
life was harder than ever to bear, for, presuming upon his patience, Sam
Brandon was more tyrannical than ever. Words failing to sting
sufficiently, he had often had recourse to blows, and these Tom had
borne patiently, till, to his cousin's way of thinking, he was about as
contemptible a coward as ever existed.

One morning at the office Sam was seated opposite to his cousin writing,
Pringle was busily employed in the other room, and Tom was putting
stamps on some letters, when his eye lit upon one standing edgewise
against a gum-bottle between him and his cousin.

Just then Mr Brandon bustled in looking very stern and angry, and he
gave a sharp look round the office. Then his eyes lit upon Tom and his
task.

"What letters are those?" he said.

"The tithe notices, sir, you told me to fill up and direct from the
book," replied Tom.

"Humph! yes, quite right. Oh, by the way, Samuel, did you post that
letter to Mr Wilcox yesterday afternoon?"

"Yes, father," said Sam promptly; and as he raised his eyes he