were small of soul and narrow of mind. As they
stood by the gate now, this last hour grudged to them, neither dreamed
that this was the final canto in the poem of boyhood. They had been fast
friends since the first day pale, puny Fred made his appearance in
school, and was both laughed at and bullied by some boys larger in size,
but younger in years.

"He will have to get the nonsense rubbed out of him some time," thought
Jack; "and it can never be younger." But, when the contest degenerated
into the force of the strong against the weak, one blow of Jack's fist
sent Brown reeling and howling.

"Try a fellow of your own size next time," was Jack's pithy advice.

Fred came to him, and cried hysterically in his arms. Jack had
experienced the same feeling for some poor rescued kitten. Fred, with
his head full of King Arthur and his knights, mythology, and bits of
children's histories, wherein figured heroes and soldiers, elected Jack
to the highest niche in his regard.

Jack Darcy was a wonderful boy withal, a very prince of boys, who hated
study and work, and loved play; who despised Sunday clothes and girls'
parties; but who had not his equal for spinning a top, or raising a
kite, and when it came to leap-frog, or short stop, he was simply
immense. Then he always knew the best places to dig worms, and the
little nooks where fish were sure to bite, the best chestnut and walnut
trees; and, with years and experience, he excelled in baseball, skating,
wrestling, leaping, and rowing. Jack Darcy was no dunce, either. Only
one subject extinguished him entirely, and that was composition. Under
its malign influence he sank to the level of any other boy. And here
Fred shone pre-eminently, kindly casting his mantle over his
friend,--further, sometimes, than a conscientious charity would have
admitted; but a boy's conscience is quite as susceptible of a bias as
that of older and wiser people. On the other hand, Jack wrestled
manfully with many a tough problem on which Fred would have been
hopelessly stranded. Once rouse the belligerent impulse in Jack, and he
would fight his way through.

These two were at different ends of the social plane. Fred's father was
the great man of Yerbury, the present owner of Hope Mills; not only
rich, but living in luxury. He had married Miss Agatha Hope, and by the
death of her two brothers she had become sole heir to the Hope estate:
though it was whispered that her brothers had left a heavy lega