grateful;
and if the young gentleman fancied his Uncle Gregory did not know that
nine shillings of it went into the post-office savings' bank regularly
every week, he was greatly mistaken. The dining down-stairs was not
quite such a success; he was usually completely ignored, and always felt
glad when the formal prolonged meal was over, and he was at liberty to
follow Mr. Gregory to the library. There, indeed, Bertie had often two,
or even three, hours' trying work, copying out prospectuses and share
lists, reading aloud a strange jargon he did not half understand about
stocks, consols, and dividends, adding up prodigious sums of money,
subtracting other sums from them, and, when the result did not quite
satisfy Mr. Gregory, having to consign them all to the waste-paper
basket, and begin over again. Still, it was better than the long dreary
evenings in the deserted school-room, though so much confinement was
beginning to tell a little on Bertie's rosy cheeks and healthy young
frame. The atmosphere of the Underground Railway, too, was injuring
lungs that had never breathed anything but the purest country air, and
at last Mr. Gregory noticed his altered appearance, and invited him to
drive into the City in the dog-cart with himself every morning. That was
indeed a red-letter day,--almost as good as driving to Dr. Mayson's at
Riversdale: better, in fact, Bertie began to think later on, for the
bustle and confusion, the eager, hurrying, restless life of the City
began to have a strange charm for him, and that brisk drive to and from
Mincing Lane was a real pleasure. Then he was progressing famously with
his French and German. The old professor who gave him his lessons was a
sociable, voluble, eloquent gentleman, who waved his hands, rolled his
eyes, chattered nonsense that made Bertie laugh, but at the same time
interested him so much that he took great pains to listen and remember;
and having learned his grammar fairly well at school he was soon able to
make his way with tolerable ease through either a newspaper or letter.

But you must not suppose it was all sunshine and smooth sailing for
Bertie Rivers. He had a great many trials and troubles, and perhaps the
heaviest was his inability to go to Fitzroy Square, except on Sundays,
and not always then. Then he missed his runs in the Park and his walks
into the country in the early morning, his wood-carving and
cork-carving, and all the other amusements with which he was in t