he could plant his foot--one was barred by wealth, another by position,
another by birth. All that he could dream of was some blest chance that
should break down for him one of these barriers. He was sullen,
afflicted, ashamed, indignant, and alarmed,--above all, when he thought
of one thing--that thing was his poverty.

For this had the shepherd of the village near Haerlem labored twenty
years; for this had he spent the savings of those twenty years, in giving
an education to this young nobleman.

John was buried deep in these reveries--too deep for his age--when some
one came up smiling to him. This was a little, fat, chubby-faced man, as
round as a barrel, with a low brown hat on his head. He had on a large
brown cloak, a handsome yellow doublet, black breeches in the old
fashion, and square-toed glossy shoes, with large roses of purple ribbon.
The glance of this man, whose hair was already becoming gray, was keen
and penetrating. Though his lips were thick, there was an open, honest
expression about his mouth; while his clear eyes and sharply-cut eyebrows
seemed to belong to a man of strict uprightness.

"I do not like to see youth melancholy," said the little man, coming
close to John Durer, and examining him--"it is a sign of the disease too
common among young people--which is a desire to be something and somebody
before they are well born into the world. I would bet my fortune against
this boy's dreams that he is already an old scholar. Plague take those
parents who fill their children's heads with learning ere they have made
men of them! who neglect all care to form a character, and think only how
to bring forward the understanding!--Vanity kills right feeling!"

Mumbling thus to himself, the little man went up to John, and began to