“Well, I will, father, I will really. I’ll always in future be as careful as—careful as—careful as Taff.”
Dick had been looking round the room for an example of care, and this suggested itself.
Mr Temple smiled, and bent down over his minerals so that his boys should not see his face, as he noticed Arthur’s ears turn red and a nervous twitch go through him preparatory to his looking up from his book.
“No,” said Mr Temple, “I do not wish you to be as careful as Arthur, my boy, or to take anyone else for a model. Be just your own natural self, and do your best to run straight on your journey through life. Don’t try to run like others run; it may not always be in a good style.”
Arthur’s eyes fell upon his book once more, and his ears became of a very deep crimson as he felt injured and touched in his dignity.
“Papa might have said yes, and told Dick to imitate me,” thought Arthur; and he went on with his reading, feeling very much ill used.
“Mr Marion would like to speak to you, sir,” said the landlord, coming in just then.
“What, Will?” cried Dick eagerly.
“No, Master Richard. I shouldn’t have called him Mr Marion,” said the landlord, smiling. “It’s the old gentleman. May I show him in, sir?”
“Yes, certainly;” and Uncle Abram came in, looking like a Finnan haddock in a glazed hat, for on account of the weather the old man was clothed from head to foot in yellow oilskins, and shone and twinkled with the drops of spray.