"Don't dare to wish that!" exclaimed Harold quickly, "until you have made themost of your life."

"The most of my life!" echoed Reginald contemptuously. "That's well put,John, I must say! What is my life worth to me now? You see what myfather thinks of it. A useless log, as valuable as a piece of wastepaper. I believe it would have pleased him better if I had been killedoutright. He wouldn't have had the humiliation of it always before hiseyes. If it had been any sort of a decent accident, I believe I couldbear it better, but to be knocked over in a legball match, like theprecious duffer that I am--bah!"

The concentrated bitterness of the last words made Harold's heart ache."Looking backward, Rege," he exclaimed quietly, "will never make a man ofyou. It is only a waste of time and vital tissue. But there are lots ofnoble lives in spite of limitations. Paul had his thorn in the flesh,you know, and Milton his blindness. Difficulties are a spur to the bestthat is in us."

"Difficulties, Harold. You never look at them, do you?"

Harold laughed. "It is not worth while except to look at how to surmountthem."

"I wish you could be idle just for an hour," exclaimed Reginald peevishly,"you make me nervous."

John took another stitch in the halter he was mending. "0ld FatherTime's spoiling tooth is never still, Rege. I have to work to keep pacewith it."

"I should think you would need a fortnight of loafing to made up for thesleep you have lost. You're ahead of Napoleon, Harold, for he only keptone eye open, but I've never been able to catch you napping once. Howhave you stood it, man?"

"Forty winks is a fair allowance sometimes, Rege."