Nell went with him into the other little rooms, and over both the houses, in which he found various small comforts wanting, which he said he would supply, and then went away. After some five or ten minutes he came back laden with old shelves, rugs, and blankets, and followed by a boy bearing another load. These being cast on the floor in a heap, Nell and her new friend spent a happy time in sorting and arranging them.
When nothing more was left to be done, the Bachelor told the boy to run off and bring all his schoolmates before their new master.
"As good a set of fellows, Marton, as you'd wish to see," he said, turning to the schoolmaster when the boy was gone; "but I don't let 'em know I think so. That wouldn't do at all."
The boy soon returned at the head of a long row of others, great and small, who stood shyly before the little group of which the Bachelor was the centre.
"This first boy, schoolmaster," said the little gentleman, "is John Owen; a lad of good parts, sir, and frank, honest temper, but too thoughtless, too playful, too light-headed by far. That boy, my good sir, would break his neck with pleasure; and between ourselves, when you come to see him at hare-and-hounds, taking the fence and ditch by the finger-post, and sliding down the face of the little quarry, you'll never forget it. It's beautiful!"
John Owen having been thus rebuked, the Bachelor singled out another boy.
"Now, look at that lad, sir," said the Bachelor. "You see that fellow? Richard Evans his name is, sir. An amazing boy to learn, blessed with a good memory; and moreover, with a good voice and ear for psalm-singing, at which he is the best among us. Yet, sir, that boy will come to a bad end; he'll never die in his bed; he's always falling asleep in sermon time—and to tell you the truth, Mr. Marton, I always did the same at his age, and feel quite certain that I couldn't help it."
This hopeful pupil having been thus described, the Bachelor turned to another.
"But if," said he, "we come to a boy that should be a warning to all his fellows, here's the one, and I hope you won't spare him. This is the lad, sir—this one with the blue eyes and light hair. This is a swimmer, sir—this fellow—a diver.
"This is a boy, sir," he went on, "who had a fancy for plunging into eighteen feet of water with his clothes on, and bringing up a blind man's dog that was being drowned by the weight of its chain and collar, while its master stood wringing his hands upon the bank. I sent the boy two guineas, sir," added the Bachelor in a whisper, "directly I heard of it; but never mention it, for he hasn't the least idea that it came from me."