precious, David, to be wasted in this way. You _must_ get rid
of him, somehow."

Sewell went back to his guest in the reception-room, who seemed to
have remained as immovably in his chair as if he had been a sitting
statue of himself. He did not move when Sewell entered.

"On second thoughts," said the minister, "I believe I will not ask
you to go to a publisher with me, as I had intended; it would expose
you to unnecessary mortification, and it would be, from my point of
view, an unjustifiable intrusion upon very busy people. I must ask
you to take my word for it that no publisher would bring out your
poem, and it never would pay you a cent if he did." The boy remained
silent as before, and Sewell had no means of knowing whether it was
from silent conviction or from mulish obstinacy. "Mrs. Sewell will
be down presently. She wished me to ask you to stay to dinner. We
have an early dinner, and there will be time enough after that for
you to look about the city."

"I shouldn't like to put you out," said Barker.

"Oh, not at all," returned Sewell, grateful for this sign of
animation, and not exigent of a more formal acceptance of his
invitation. "You know," he said, "that literature is a trade, like
every other vocation, and that you must serve an apprenticeship if
you expect to excel. But first of all you must have some natural
aptitude for the business you undertake. You understand?" asked
Sewell; for he had begun to doubt whether Barker understood
anything. He seemed so much more stupid than he had at home; his
faculties were apparently sealed up, and he had lost all the