know what it means, Agnes? I don't. Do you know what Uncle Clair
meant?"

"I think I can guess," she replied, without looking at either of her
cousins. "I believe uncle meant that Eddie's enemy was _himself_,
because you know, dear, very often you won't let yourself be happy, and
make yourself quite miserable about nothing at all."

"Oh!" Eddie said, after a long silence, "do you think Uncle Clair meant
that?"

"Here he is, and Mr. Murray too," Bertie said, jumping up, and springing
forward, forgetting that poor Eddie's face still bore traces of his
recent distress, and that Agnes too looked very sad, and not a bit
inclined for company. They had not Bertie's happy knack of shaking off
unpleasant sensations and being cheerful in a moment. However, Uncle
Clair and Mr. Murray were standing beside them, and there was nothing
for it but to make the best of the situation, though Eddie, at least,
would have gladly been alone, to think over Agnes' words, and ask
himself if he really was his own enemy.

CHAPTER XI.--BERTIE GOES BACK TO BUSINESS.

Mr. Murray's conversation with Mr. Clair had been a long and interesting
one, as far as the boys were concerned. Mr. Murray heard every
particular of Mr. Rivers' losses which Mr. Clair knew, and also gained a
good insight into the character and temper of the lads. What he heard of
Bertie pleased him greatly, especially as it agreed exactly with what
Mr. Gregory said; about Eddie he looked a little grave, and puckered up
his forehead for full five minutes, as Mr. Clair described his
restlessness, discontent, and want of application, and, worst of all,
the foolish idea that he was really very clever, and very much
misunderstood and unappreciated by his relatives.

"The boy is fairly clever, but he's not a genius," Mr. Clair said. "If
he would only work, he might get on; but Eddie prefers to dream noble
things rather than do them; he will spend hours looking at beautiful
pictures, and then nearly break his childish heart because he can't do
something equally good. His ideas, his ambitions, are excellent, but he
will not work."

"Is there no other profession he might get on better at? Would he make a
lawyer, or a doctor, do you think?" Mr. Murray asked.

"I'm afraid not; he really wants to be an artist; besides, he's so proud
and sensitive, that he never would make his way in the world if he had
to mix with people, and fight for a place. Poor Eddie, I am sorry for
him," Mr. Cla