in life are those
who love truth, and who follow what is noble and good. No matter how
brave a man may be, if he hasn't these qualities he won't succeed. He
may get rich, but that won't amount to much. Success, Paul, is to have
an unblemished character,--to be true to ourselves, to our country, and
to God."

He went on with his story, telling how the British troops ran before the
fire of the Yankees,--how they re-formed and came on a second time, and
were repulsed again,--how General Clinton went over from Boston with
reinforcements,--how Charlestown was set on fire,--how the flames leaped
from house to house, and curled round the spire of the church,--how the
red-coats advanced a third time beneath the great black clouds of
smoke,--how the ammunition of the Yankees gave out, and they were
obliged to retreat,--how General Putnam tried to rally them,--how they
escaped across Charlestown Neck, where the cannon-balls from the British
floating batteries raked the ranks! He made it all so plain, that Paul
wished he had been there.

The story completed, Paul climbed the creaking stairway to his narrow
chamber, repeated his evening prayer, and scrambled into bed.

"He is a jolly boy," said the pensioner to Paul's mother, as Paul left
the room.

"I don't know what will become of him," she replied, "he is so wild and
thoughtless. He leaves the door open, throws his cap into the corner,
sets Bruno and Muff to growling, stops to play on his way home from
school, sings, whistles, shouts, hurrahs, and tears round like all
possessed."

If she could have looked into Paul's desk at school, she would have
found whirligigs, tops, pin-boxes, nails, and no end of strings and
dancing dandy-jims.

"Paul is a rogue," said the Pensioner. "You remember how he got on top
of the house awhile ago and frightened us out of our wits by shouting
'Fire! fire!' down the chimney; how we ran out to see about it; how I
asked him 'Where?' and says he, 'Down there in the fireplace, grandpa.'
He is a chip of the old block. I used to do just so. But there is one
good thing about him, he don't do mean tricks. He don't bend up pins and
put them in the boys' seats, or tuck chestnut-burs into the girls'
hoods. I never knew him to tell a lie. He will come out all right."

"I hope so," said Mrs. Parker.

Paul could look through the crevices between the shingles, and the
cracks in the walls, and behold the stars gleaming from the unfathomable
spaces. He w