is part, his dependents had not fallen into them.

Tom regarded his gay, airy, handsome young master with an odd mixture
of fealty, reverence, and fatherly solicitude. That he never read the
Bible; never went to church; that he jested and made free with any and
every thing that came in the way of his wit; that he spent his Sunday
evenings at the opera or theatre; that he went to wine parties, and
clubs, and suppers, oftener than was at all expedient,--were all things
that Tom could see as plainly as anybody, and on which he based a
conviction that "Mas'r wasn't a Christian;"--a conviction, however,
which he would have been very slow to express to any one else, but on
which he founded many prayers, in his own simple fashion, when he was
by himself in his little dormitory. Not that Tom had not his own way
of speaking his mind occasionally, with something of the tact often
observable in his class; as, for example, the very day after the Sabbath
we have described, St. Clare was invited out to a convivial party of
choice spirits, and was helped home, between one and two o'clock at
night, in a condition when the physical had decidedly attained the upper
hand of the intellectual. Tom and Adolph assisted to get him composed
for the night, the latter in high spirits, evidently regarding the
matter as a good joke, and laughing heartily at the rusticity of Tom's
horror, who really was simple enough to lie awake most of the rest of
the night, praying for his young master.

"Well, Tom, what are you waiting for?" said St. Clare, the next day, as
he sat in his library, in dressing-gown and slippers. St. Clare had just
been entrusting Tom with some money, and various commissions. "Isn't all
right there, Tom?" he added, as Tom still stood waiting.

"I'm 'fraid not, Mas'r," said Tom, with a grave face.

St. Clare laid down his paper, and set down his coffee-cup, and looked
at Tom.

"Why Tom, what's the case? You look as solemn as a coffin."

"I feel very bad, Mas'r. I allays have thought that Mas'r would be good
to everybody."

"Well, Tom, haven't I been? Come, now, what do you want? There's
something you haven't got, I suppose, and this is the preface."

"Mas'r allays been good to me. I haven't nothing to complain of on that
head. But there is one that Mas'r isn't good to."

"Why, Tom, what's got into you? Speak out; what do you mean?"

"Last night, between one and two, I thought so. I studied upon the
matter then. Mas'r isn'