"I am not," said Cashel, sulkily. "It is bec--"

"There is no use in contradicting me in that fashion," said Mrs.
Byron, interrupting him sharply. "I am sure that whatever Dr.
Moncrief says is perfectly true."

"He is always talking like that," said Cashel, plaintively. "I can't
learn Latin and Greek; and I don't see what good they are. I work as
hard as any of the rest--except the regular stews, perhaps. As to my
being rough, that is all because I was out one day with Gully
Molesworth, and we saw a crowd on the common, and when we went to
see what was up it was two men fighting. It wasn't our fault that
they came there to fight."

"Yes; I have no doubt that you have fifty good excuses, Cashel. But
I will not allow any fighting; and you really must work harder. Do
you ever think of how hard _I_ have to work to pay Dr. Moncrief one
hundred and twenty pounds a year for you?"

"I work as hard as I can. Old Moncrief seems to think that a fellow
ought to do nothing else from morning till night but write Latin
verses. Tatham, that the doctor thinks such a genius, does all his
constering from cribs. If I had a crib I could conster as well--very
likely better."

"You are very idle, Cashel; I am sure of that. It is too provoking
to throw away so much money every year for nothing. Besides, you
must soon be thinking of a profession."

"I shall go into the army," said Cashel. "It is the only profession