But the two little figures clad in white cricketting flannels, were full
of life and motion as they kept up an eager and animated conversation on
their lofty seat.

"You see, Dudley, if nothing happens, we will make it happen!"

"Then it isn't an opportunity."

"Yes it is. Why if those old fellows in olden times hadn't ridden off to
look for adventures they would never have found them at home."

"But an opportunity isn't an adventure."

"Yes, it is, you stupid! An adventure is something that happens, and so
is an opportunity."

The little speaker who announced this logic so dogmatically, was a slim
delicate boy with white face, and large brown eyes, and a crop of dark
unruly curls that had a trick of defying the hair cutter's skill, and of
growing so erratically that "Master Roy's head," was pronounced quite
unmanageable.

He was not a pretty boy, and was in delicate health, constantly subject
to attacks of bronchitis and asthma, yet his spirit was undaunted, and
as his old nurse often said, "his soul was too strong for his body."

Dudley, his little cousin, who sat facing him, on the contrary, was a
true specimen of a handsome English boy. Chestnut hair and bright blue
eyes, rosy cheeks, and an upright sturdy carriage, did much to commend
him to every one's favor: yet for force of character and intellect he