Study's right
enough, but too much of a good thing is bad for any one. Now, on a fine
morning like this--"

"Is it fine, father? I thought it was cold."

"Cold! Tut--tut--tut! The weather is never cold to a healthy, manly
boy."

"I'm afraid I'm not manly, father," said the lad.

"No, Jack, nor healthy neither; you are troubling me a great deal."

"Am I, father?" said the lad softly. "I'm very sorry. But I really am
quite well."

"You are not, sir," cried Sir John, "and never will be if you spend all
your time over books."

The lad gave him a sad, weary look.

"I thought you wanted me to study hard, father," he said reproachfully.

"Yes, yes, my boy, I do, and I should like to see you grow up into a
distinguished man, but you are trying to make yourself into the
proverbial dull boy."

"Am I? And I have worked so hard," said the lad in a weary, spiritless
way.

"Yes; it's all work and no play with you, Jack, and it will not do, boy.
When I was your age I was captain of our football club."

Jack shuddered.

"I often carried out my bat at cricket."

The lad sighed.

"I could stick on anything, from a donkey up to an unbroken colt; throw
a ball as far as any of my age, and come in smiling and ready for a good
meal after a long paper-chase."

Jack's pitiable look of despair was almost comical.

"While you, sir," cried Sir John angrily, "you're a regular molly, and
do nothing but coddle yourself over the fire and read. It's read, read,
read, from morning till night, and when you do go out, it's warm
wrappers and flannel and mackintoshes. Why, hang it all, boy! you go
about as if you were afraid of being blown over, or that the rain would
make you melt away."

"I am very sorry, father," said the youth piteously; "I'm afraid I am
not like other boys."

"Not a bit."

"I can't help it."

"You don't try, Jack. You don't try, my boy. I always had the best of
accounts about you from Daneborough. The reports are splendid. And,
there, my dear boy, I am not angry with you, but it is very worrying to
see you going about with lines in your forehead and this white face,
when I want to see you sturdy and--well, as well and hearty as I am.
Why, Jack, you young dog!" he cried, slapping him on the shoulder, and
making the lad wince, "I feel quite ashamed of myself. It isn't right
for an old man like I am."

"You old, father!" said the lad, with more animation, and a faint flush
came in his cheeks.