beyond books, he never thought of giving it.

The squire never interfered. He was a silent and disappointed man. He
attended to his duties as a magistrate, and to the management of his
estate, but seldom went beyond the lodge gates. He took his meals by
himself, and often did not see his nephew for a week together, and had
no idea but that he was pursuing his studies regularly with his tutor.
Thus, the character of Richard Horton formed itself unchecked. At the
best it was a bad one, but under other circumstances it might have been
improved.

Up to the age of ten, he had lived in London with his father and
mother, the latter a sister of the squire, who, having married beneath
her, to the indignation of Mr. Linthorne, he had never seen her
afterwards.

Four years before the story begins, she had received a letter from him,
saying that, as her eldest son was now his heir, he wished him to come
and live with him, and be prepared to take his place. The Hortons, who
had a numerous family, at once accepted the offer, and Richard, hearing
that he was going to a grand house, and would no doubt have a pony and
all sorts of nice things, left his father and mother without a tear.

He was essentially selfish. He was vain of his good looks, which were
certainly striking; and with his changed fortunes he became arrogant,
and, as the squire's servants said, hateful; and yet the change had
brought him less pleasure than he expected. It was true that he had the
pony, that he was not obliged to trouble himself with lessons, that he
was an important person at the "Hall;" but he had no playfellows, no
one to admire his grandeur, and the days often passed heavily, and
there was a look of discontent and peevishness upon his handsome face.

Perhaps the reason why he so seldom came down into Sidmouth, was not
only because the fisher boys were not sufficiently impressed with his
importance, but because they looked so much happier and more contented
than he felt, in spite of his numerous advantages. On this day he was
in a particularly bad temper. He had lamed his pony the day before, by
riding it furiously over a bad road after it had cast a shoe. The
gardener had objected to his picking more than half a dozen peaches
which had just come into perfection, and had threatened to appeal to
the squire.

Altogether, he was out of sorts, and had walked down to the sea with a
vague hope that something might turn up to amuse him. He stood for some