So the years passed on.
The estate continued to thrive.
Roland was now a handsome young fellow in his eighteenth year, and Peggy, now beautiful beyond compare, was nearly fifteen.
Dick Temple, the bold and reckless huntsman and horseman, was quieter now in his attentions towards her. She was no longer the child that he could lift on to his broad young shoulders and carry, neighing and galloping like a frightened colt, round and round the lawn.
And Roland felt himself a man. He was more sober and sedate, and had taken over all his father's work and his father's responsibilities. But for all that, lightly enough lay the burden on his heart.
For he had youth on his side, and
"In the lexicon of youth which fate reserves
For a bright manhood there is no such word
As fail".
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I do not, however, wish to be misunderstood. It must not be supposed that Roland had no difficulties to contend with, that all his business life was as fair and serene as a bright summer's day. On the contrary, he had many losses owing to the fluctuations of the markets and the failures of great firms, owing to fearful storms, and more than once owing to strikes or revolts among his Indians in the great india-rubber forest.
But Roland was light-hearted and young, and difficulties in life, I have often said, are just like nine-pins, they are put up to be bowled over.