g and burying the jug in the ground, and not digging it
up till Christmas. He tried it with a jug of cherries, which he dug up
in about a week; but the cherries could not have smelt worse if they had
been kept till Christmas. He knew a boy that had a father that had a
bakery, and that used to let him come and watch them making bread. There
was a fat boy learning the trade there, and they called him the
dough-baby, because he looked so white and soft; and the boy whose
father had a mill said that down at the German brewery they had a Dutch
boy that they were teaching to drink beer, so they could tell how much
beer a person could drink if he was taken early; but perhaps this was
not true.

My boy's brother went to all sorts of places that my boy was too shy to
go to; and he associated with much older boys, but there was one boy
who, as I have said, was the dear friend of both of them, and that was
the boy who came to learn the trade in their father's printing-office,
and who began an historical romance at the time my boy began his great
Moorish novel. The first day he came he was put to roll, or ink the
types, while my boy's brother worked the press, and all day long my boy,
from where he was setting type, could hear him telling the story of a
book he had read. It was about a person named Monte Cristo, who was a
count, and who could do anything. My boy listened with a gnawing
literary jealousy of a boy who had read a book that he had never heard
of. He tried to think whether it sounded as if it were as great a book
as the "Conquest of Granada," or "Gesta Romanorum;" and for a time he
kept aloof from this boy because of his envy. Afterwards they came
together on "Don Quixote," but though my boy came to have quite a
passionate fondness for him, he was long in getting rid of his grudge
against him for his knowledge of "Monte Cristo." He was as great a
laughter as my boy and his brother, and he liked the same sports, so
that two by two, or all three together, they had no end of jokes and
fun. He became the editor of a country newspaper, with varying fortunes
but steadfast principles, and when the war broke out he went as a
private soldier. He soon rose to be an officer, and fought bravely in
many battles. Then he came back to a country-newspaper office where,
ever after, he continued to fight the battles of right against wrong,
till he died not long ago at his post of duty--a true, generous, and
lofty soul. He was one of thos