place in a
great commerce which touched so distant shores, and so many countries,
of the world. He used to watch the vessels sail, on the few and
far-between days when there were departures, and wish, with inward
sighs, that he might sail with them. A longing to see the great world,
the Europe of history, the Britain of his ancestors, had been
implanted in him by his reading, before he had come to New York, and
the desire was but intensified by his daily contact with the one end
of a trade whose other end lay beyond the ocean.

Outside of the hours of business, Philip's place was that of a member
of the Faringfield household, where, save in the one respect that
after his first night it was indeed the garret room that fell to him,
he was on terms of equality with the children. Ned alone, of them all,
affected toward him the manner of a superior to a dependent. Whatever
were Philip's feelings regarding this attitude of the elder son, he
kept them locked within, and had no more to say to Master Ned than
absolute civility required. With the two girls and little Tom, and
with me, he was, evenings and Sundays, the pleasantest playfellow in
the world.

Ungrudgingly he gave up to us, once we had made the overtures, the
time he would perhaps rather have spent over his books; for he had
brought a few of these from Philadelphia, a fact which accounted for
the exceeding heaviness of his travelling bag, and he had access, of
course, to those on Mr. Faringfield's shelves. His compliance with our
demands was the more kind, as I afterward began to see, for that his
day's work often left him quite tired out. Of this we never thought;
we were full of the spirits pent up all day at school, Madge and Fanny
being then learners at the feet of a Boston maiden lady in our street,
while I yawned and idled my hours away on the hard benches of a Dutch
schoolmaster near the Broadway, under whom Ned Faringfield also was a
student. But fresh as we were, and tired as Philip was, he was always
ready for a romp in our back yard, or a game of hide-and-seek in the
Faringfields' gardens, or a chase all the way over to the Bowling
Green, or all the way up to the Common where the town ended and the
Bowery lane began.

But it soon came out that Phil's books were not neglected, either. The
speed with which his candles burnt down, and required renewal, told of
nocturnal studies in his garret. As these did not perceptibly
interfere with his activity the nex