spoke of these old heroes and their deeds went beyond mere boyish
admiration of valour and delight in bloodshed; he seemed to be
strongly sensible of the real features of greatness in these men's
lives, and invested his stories with a glow of poetical colour which
found little appreciation in either of his hearers.

"And I was born in Rome, wasn't I, uncle?" he exclaimed at last.
"_I_ am a Roman; _Romanus sum_!"

Then he laughed with his wonted bright gleefulness. It was half in
jest, but for all that there was a genuine warmth on his cheek, and
lustre in his fine eyes.

"Some day I will go to Rome again," he said, "and both of you shall
go with me. We shall see the Forum and the Capitol! Sha'n't you
shout when you see the Capitol, uncle?"

Poor Smales only smiled sadly and shook his head. It was a long way
from Marylebone to Rome; greater still the distance between the
boy's mind and that of his uncle.

Sarah took Harriet to bed early. Julian had got hold of his Plutarch
again, and read snatches of it aloud every now and then. His uncle
paid no heed, was sunk in dull reverie. When they had sat thus for
more than an hour, Mr. Smales began to exhibit a wish to talk.

"Put the book away, and draw up to the fire, my boy," he said, with
as near an approach to heartiness as he was capable of. "It's
Christmas time, and Christmas only comes once a year."