disappointment. Each of them, adopting the sentiment of their heroic
young leader, thought what a good fellow Frank Sedley was, and _tried_
to feel glad that he had won.

There was one of them, however, who did not think much about it after he
separated from his companions. Other considerations claimed his
attention; and before he reached his humble home, the race was banished
from his mind. He had a sick father, and the family had hard work to get
along. This was Little Paul.

His mother insisted upon sending him to school while there was anything
left to procure the necessaries of life; and as there was little for him
to do at home, he was allowed to join the club, because his parents knew
how much he loved the sports on the lake, and that nothing but good
influences would be exerted upon him in the association.

Paul Munroe was a good boy, in every sense of the word; and though he
had never been able to do much for his parents, they regarded him none
the less as one of their choicest blessings. As Tony expressed it,
Little Paul's heart was in the right place; and it was a big heart, full
of warm blood.

His father sat in an easy-chair by the kitchen stove as he entered, and
a smile played upon his pale blue lips as his eyes met the glance of his
loving son.

"Well, Paul, did you win the race?" he asked, in feeble tones.

"No, father; the Zephyrs beat. Frank Sedley rather outgeneraled Tony,
and his crew were more used to pulling than we. But Frank is a