miserable, that he relented; and at last it was arranged that Fred
was to take a hundred pounds of mother's money--she would have given
him the whole if she could, poor dear--and take cheap rooms in
London, and try how he could get on by teaching drawing and taking
copying orders.

"Remember, Fred," continued Uncle Geoffrey, rather sternly, "you are
taking a sixth part of your mother's entire income; all that she has
for herself and these girls; if you squander it rashly, you will be
robbing the widow and the fatherless. You have scouted my well-meant
advice, and Allan's"--he went on--"and are marking out your own path
in life very foolishly, as we think; remember, you have only yourself
to blame, if you make that life a failure. Artists are of the same
stuff as other men, and ought to be sober, steady, and persevering;
without patience and effort you cannot succeed."

"When my picture is accepted by the hanging committee, you and Allan
will repent your sneers," answered Fred, bitterly.

"We do not sneer, my boy," returned Uncle Geoffrey, more mildly--for
he remembered Fred's father had only been dead a week--"we are only
doubtful of the wisdom of your choice; but there, work hard at your
daubs, and keep out of debt and bad company, and you may yet triumph
over your cranky old uncle." And so the matter was amicably settled.

Allan's arrangements were far more simple. He was to leave the
hospital in another year, and become Uncle Geoffrey's assistant, with
a view to partnership. It was not quite Allan's taste, a practice in
a sleepy country town; but, as he remarked rather curtly, "beggars
must not be choosers," and he would as soon work under Uncle Geoffrey