“It will be nothing at all then, I can tell you that!” rejoined the third.  “Think how many different ranks there are in a town far above that of a master-mason.  You may be an honest sort of a man, but you will never be a gentleman; gentle and simple; those are the two grand divisions, and you will always be one of the ‘simple.’  Well, I know better than that.  I will be an architect; I will be one of the thinkers, the artists; I will raise myself to the aristocracy of intellect.  I may have to begin from the very lowest grade; I may begin as a carpenter’s boy, and run about with a paper-cap on my head, to fetch ale for the workmen; I may not enjoy it, but I shall try to imagine it is only a masquerade.  ‘To-morrow,’ I shall say, ’I will go my own way, and others shall not come near me.’  Yes, I shall go to the Academy, learn to draw, and be called an architect.  That will be Something!  I may get a title, perhaps; and I shall build and build, as others before me have done.  Yes, that will be Something!”

“But it is Something that I care nothing about,” said the fourth.  “I should not care to go on, on, in the beaten track, to be a mere copyist; I will be a genius, cleverer than all of you put together; I will create a new style, provide ideas for buildings suited to the climate and materials of our country, suited to our national character, and the requirements of the age.”

“But supposing the climate and the materials don’t agree,” suggested the fifth, “how will you get on then, if they won’t co-operate?  As for our national character, to be following out that in architecture will be sheer affectation, and the requirements of modern civilization will drive you perfectly mad.  I see you will none of you ever be anything, though of course you won’t believe me.  But do as you please, I shall not be like you.  I shall reason over what you execute; there is something ridiculous in everything; I shall find it out, show you yeur faults—­that will be Something!”

And he kept his word; and folk said of this fifth brother, “There is something in him, certainly; he has plenty of brains! but he does nothing.”  But he was content, he was Something.

But what became of the five brothers?  We will hear the whole.

The eldest brother, the brickmaker, found that every brick he turned out whole yielded him a tiny copper coin—­only copper—­but a great many of these small coins, added together, could be converted into a bright silver dollar, and through the power of this, wheresoever he knocked, whether at baker’s, butcher’s, or tailor’s, the door flew open, and he received what he wanted.  Such was the virtue of his bricks; some, of course, got broken before they were finished, but a use was found even for these.  For up by the trench would poor Mother Margaret fain build herself a little house, if she might; she took all the broken bricks, ay, and she got a few whole ones besides, for a good heart had the eldest brother, though only a brickmaker.