The dew at once was in the mother's eyes, as she sprang up and kissed
the boy's brow, saying, 'Felix, dear, don't show it to me. You were
meant to be happy with it. Go and be so.'

'Stay,' said Mr. Underwood, Felix will really enjoy helping us to
this extent more than any private expenditure. Is it not so, my boy?
Well then, I propose that the sovereign of old prescriptive right
should go to his menus plaisirs, and the rest to something needful;
but he shall say to what. Said I well, old fellow?'

'Oh, thank you, thank you!' cried Felix ardently.

'Thank me for permission to do as you will with your own?' smiled Mr.
Underwood.

'You will choose, then, Felix?' said his mother wistfully, her
desires divided between port wine for papa and pale ale for
Geraldine.

'Yes, mamma,' was the prompt answer. 'Then, please, let Wilmet and
Alda be rigged out fresh for Sundays.'

'Wilmet and Alda!' exclaimed Mamma.

'Yes, I should like that better than anything, please,' said the boy.
'All our fellows say they would be the prettiest girls in all Bexley,
if they were properly dressed; and those horrid girls at Miss
Pearson's lead them a life about those old black hats.'