We had not been seated many moments, and had scarcely pushed off the
shore of silence into a new sea of talk, when we were interrupted by
the invasion of half a dozen dogs. They were of all sorts down to no
sort. Mr. Skymer called one of them Tadpole--I suppose because he had
the hugest tail, while his legs were not visible without being looked
for.

"That animal," said his master, "--he looks like a dog, but who would
be positive what he was!--is the cleverest in the pack. He seems to me
a rare individuality. His ancestors must have been of all sorts, and
he has gathered from them every good quality possessed by each. Think
what a man might be--made up that way!"

"Why is there no such man?" I said.

"There may be some such men. There must be many one day," he answered,
"--but not for a while yet. Men must first be made willing to be
noble."

"And you don't think men willing to be made noble?"

"Oh yes! willing enough, some of them, to be _made_ noble!"

"I do not understand. I thought you said they were not!"

"They are willing enough _to be made_ noble; but that is very
different from being willing _to be_ noble: that takes trouble. How
can any one become noble who desires it so little as not to fight for
it!"