"Many thanks for the privilege, with my deep appreciation for your kindness in thinking of me thus," returned Mr. Archer, warmly, at the same time resuming his seat.
"The story I have to tell you came under my immediate observation. I was quite well acquainted with the principal character.
"Very many years ago, and not far distant from this city, lived an orphan boy, scarce fifteen years of age—bereaved, at one cruel blow, by a prevailing epidemic, of both parents, and left to the care of an uncle (his father's brother), a hard, cruel man.
"A few hundred dollars, quite sufficient, however, to support and continue the boy's studies, for a few years, was left in the hands of the uncle. But of this there was no proof—no will or last testament was left.
"Death came so swiftly there was little time for aught save an appealing look from son to brother, and the pleading voice murmured:
"'Be a father to my boy, Oh! deal justly, kindly towards him!'
"In a very few days the sensitive mind of the poor boy too truly perceived that he was not a welcome inmate. Before a month had passed he was withdrawn from school; his love of study was discouraged; in fact, made a source of ridicule; and his time so completely taken up with hard work on the farm, there was no chance for aught else.
"On one occasion George (we will call him) ventured a remonstrance with his uncle—alluding to the money in his possession to be used for George's education and support. Judge of his amazement and indignation when the bad man denied having one dollar in trust for him, and ended by calling him a pauper, and saying he would have to work for his bread.
"The future, there, was very plain to George; a life of ignorance—nothing higher than a mere farm drudge. His mind was determined against that. Privation, suffering, death, even, were preferable. The next day found him a fugitive from injustice and dishonesty—a lonely traveler on the path of life. Seeking Fortune, to find and be treated by that whimsical goddess with good or ill. To be smiled or frowned upon, to be mounted upon the triumphing waves, rising higher and higher, until he had reached the pinnacle of Fame, or drifted about, sinking lower and lower in the dark waters, at last reaching the pool of Dishonesty, Despair, Death!
"Ah! who could tell which fate would be his?