"I wouldn't be seen carrying such a bundle."
"Why not?"
"I feel above it."
"I don't."
"It's different with you—now I mean. My father's worth money, and I suppose you will be poor."
"I don't mean to be poor all my life, but I shall have to work for all the money I am worth."
"It'll take a good while to get rich that way. If your father hadn't lost his money, you could have fine times."
"I don't know about that. I never cared so much about inheriting money."
They were passing the village school-house. Through the open windows floated the strain of a song which the children were singing. This was the verse which the boys heard:—