captain, had been able to give her, we were literally penniless. The
boys were not able to help us much. Allan was only a house-surgeon in
one of the London hospitals; and Fred, who called himself an artist,
had never earned a penny. He was a fair copyist, and talked the
ordinary art jargon, and went about all day in his brown velveteen
coat, and wore his hair rather long; but we never saw much result
from his Roman studies; latterly he had somewhat neglected his
painting, and had taken to violin playing and musical composition.
Uncle Geoffrey used to shake his head and say he was "Jack of all
trades and master of none," which was not far from the mark. There
was a great deal of talk between the three, before anything was
settled.

Fred was terribly aggravating to Uncle Geoffrey, I could see; but
then he was so miserable, poor fellow; he would not look at things in
their proper light, and he had a way with him as though he thought
Uncle Geoffrey was putting upon him. The discussion grew very warm at
last, for Allan sided with Uncle Geoffrey, and then Fred said every
one was against him. It struck me Uncle Geoffrey pooh-poohed Fred's
whim of being an artist; he wanted him to go into an office; there
was a vacant berth he could secure by speaking to an old friend of
his, who was in a China tea-house, a most respectable money-making
firm, and Fred would have a salary at once, with good prospects of
rising; but Fred passionately scouted the notion. He would rather
enlist; he would drown, or hang himself sooner. There were no end of
naughty things he said; only Carrie cried and begged him not to be so
wicked, and that checked him.

Uncle Geoffrey lost his patience at last, and very nearly told him
he was an idiot, to his face; but Fred looked so handsome and