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 read; he burned his fingers over a toy steam-engine, and learned to play marbles. He forced his fingers and point of view, and educated them backward. He shot peas out of spring-cannon, and decimated regiments of lead soldiers. When the hot weather came, he scuttled off to a seaside place of Maine, taking with him as companion and playmate a little boy who wore snow-white sailor suits, and, as nurse and protector for them both, an ancient Irish cook who had turned her seventieth year, but who laughed at steps and was by turns lenient and stem with children of sixty or of five.

In short, Judge Tyler plunged into mental everglades, and came upon the Fountain of Youth, whose waters are of three parts—enthusiasm, faith, and self-sacrifice. The deeper he drank, the greater his reward.

Tomas Beauling was in a fair way to be spoiled. It had not the slightest effect. Mischievous he was and prankish, but obedient as the day is long, never out of temper, frank and loyal. Indeed, he