out his face yet, because his head is down, and I can't see the eyes.
That is the Mr. Osborne Hamley who writes poetry?'

'Yes. He is not quite so handsome now; but he was a beautiful boy.
Roger was never to be compared with him.'

'No; he is not handsome. And yet I like his face. I can see his eyes.
They are grave and solemn-looking; but all the rest of his face is
rather merry than otherwise. It looks too steady and sober, too good a
face, to go tempting his brother to leave his lesson.'

'Ah! but it was not a lesson. I remember the painter, Mr. Green, once
saw Osborne reading some poetry, while Roger was trying to persuade him
to come out and have a ride in the hay-cart--that was the "motive" of
the picture, to speak artistically. Roger is not much of a reader; at
least, he doesn't care for poetry, and books of romance, or sentiment.
He is so fond of natural history; and that takes him, like the squire,
a great deal out of doors; and when he is in, he is always reading
scientific books that bear upon his pursuits. He is a good, steady
fellow, though, and gives us great satisfaction, but he is not likely
to have such a brilliant career as Osborne.'

Molly tried to find out in the picture the characteristics of the two
boys, as they were now explained to her by their mother; and in
questions and answers about the various drawings hung round the room
the time passed away until the dressing-bell rang for the six o'clock
dinner.

Molly was rather dismayed by the offers of the maid whom Mrs. Hamley
had sent to assist her. 'I am afraid they expect me to be very smart,'