t that is; but I hope I shall soon be big enough to go to plough, and
get my own living; and then I shall want nobody to wait upon me."

"What a difference between the children of farmers and gentlemen!"
whispered Mrs Merton to her husband, looking rather contemptuously upon
Harry. "I am not sure," said Mr Merton, "that for this time the
advantage is on the side of our son:--But should you not like to be
rich, my dear?" said he, turning to Harry. "No, indeed, sir." "No,
simpleton!" said Mrs Merton: "and why not?" "Because the only rich man I
ever saw, is Squire Chase, who lives hard by; and he rides among
people's corn, and breaks down their hedges, and shoots their poultry,
and kills their dogs, and lames their cattle, and abuses the poor; and
they say he does all this because he's rich; but everybody hates him,
though they dare not tell him so to his face--and I would not be hated
for anything in the world." "But should you not like to have a fine
laced coat, and a coach to carry you about, and servants to wait upon
you?" "As to that, madam, one coat is as good as another, if it will but
keep me warm; and I don't want to ride, because I can walk wherever I
choose; and, as to servants, I should have nothing for them to do, if I
had a hundred of them." Mrs Merton continued to look at him with
astonishment, but did not ask him any more questions.

In the evening, little Harry was sent home to his father, who asked him
what he had seen at the great house, and how he liked being there.
"Why," replied Harry, "they were all very kind to me, for which I'm much
obliged to them: but I had rather have been at home, for I never was so
troubled in all my life to get a dinner. There was one man to take away
my plate, and another to give me drink, and another to stand behind my
chair, just as if I had been lame or blind, and could not have waited
upon myself; and then there was so much to do with putting this thing
on, and taking another off, I thought it would never have been over;
and, after dinner, I was obliged to sit two whole hours without ever
stirring, while the lady was talking to me, not as Mr Barlow does, but
wanting me to love fine clothes, and to be a king, and to be rich, that
I may be hated like Squire Chase."

But at the mansion-house, much of the conversation, in the meantime, was
employed in examining the merits of little Harry. Mrs Merton
acknowledged his bravery and openness of temper; she was also struck
with