it. What a swell I shall be! And it
will always be sure to remind me of home."

While this talk was going on I had leisure to examine my new owner.
Picture to yourselves a curly-haired, bright-eyed boy of thirteen with
honest, open face, good features, and winning smile. He is big for his
age, and strongly built. At present his form is arrayed in a brand-new
suit of grey; his collar is new and his tie is new, his boots are new
and his socks are new; everything is new about him, down to the very
guard of his hat, and he himself is the newest and purest of all. Was
ever such a radiant young hero turned loose into the world?

And now, over and above his other glories, he had me to crown all. The
graceful curve of my chain on his waistcoat gave that garment quite a
distinguished appearance, and the consciousness of a silver watch in his
pocket made him hold his head even higher than usual.

"He is a beauty!" again he broke out, "exactly the kind I like most.
I'll take ever such a lot of care of him." And so saying, he began to
swing me at the end of the chain, till I suddenly came sharply into
collision with the door of the cab.

"Hullo," exclaimed my young master, "that won't do. I'll put him away
now. It _was_ good of you, father."

With that we reached the railway station, and in the bustle that ensued
I was for the time forgotten.

Charlie's trunks were duly labelled for Randlebury, and then came the
hardest moment of all, when father and son must part.

"I wonder if you'll be altered, Charlie, when I see you again."

"Not for the worse I hope, anyhow," replied the boy, laughing.

"Tickets, please!" demanded the guard.

"There goes the bell," said Charlie, pulling me out of his pocket.
"They're very punctual. Hullo, we're off! Good-bye, father."

"Good-bye, boy, and God bless you."

And there was a close grasp of the hand, a last smile, a hasty wave from
the window; and then we were off.

How many grown-up men are there who cannot recall at some time or other
this crisis in their lives, this first good-bye from the home of their
childhood, this stepping forth into the world with all that is familiar
and dear at their backs, and all that is strange and unknown and
wonderful stretching away like a vast landscape before them? How many
are there who would not give much to be back once more at that threshold
of their career; and to have the chance of living over again the life
they began there wit