bones won't suffer, for travelling nowadays is almost as easy as sitting in a chair."
A restless movement from Laurie suggested that his chair was not easy, or that he did not like the plan, and made the old man add, hastily,—
"I don't mean to be a marplot or a burden; I go because I think you'd feel happier than if I was left behind. I don't intend to gad about with you, but leave you free to go where you like, while I amuse myself in my own way. I've friends in London and Paris, and should like to visit them; meantime, you can go to Italy, Germany, Switzerland, where you will, and enjoy pictures, music, scenery and adventures, to your heart's content."
Now, Laurie felt just then that his heart was entirely broken, and the world a howling wilderness; but, at the sound of certain words which the old gentleman artfully introduced into his closing sentence, the broken heart gave an unexpected leap, and a green oasis or two suddenly appeared in the howling wilderness. He sighed, and then said, in a spiritless tone,—
"Just as you like, sir; it doesn't matter where I go, or what I do."
"It does to me—remember that, my lad; I give you entire liberty, but I trust you to make an honest use of it. Promise me that, Laurie."
"Anything you like, sir."
"Good!" thought the old gentleman; "you don't care now, but there'll come a time when that promise will keep you out of mischief, or I'm much mistaken."
Being an energetic individual, Mr. Laurence struck
