So, when the boy came home for his holidays he found two momentous things decided; first, that he should forthwith enter Mr. Chadwick’s office; secondly, that the little shop should be abandoned and a new one taken in a better neighbourhood.

Now Harry Humplebee had in his soul a secret desire and a secret abhorrence.  Ever since he could read his delight had been in books of natural history; beasts, birds, and fishes possessed his imagination, and for nothing else in the intellectual world did he really care.  With poor resources he had learned a great deal of his beloved subjects.  Whenever he could get away into the fields he was happy; to lie still for hours watching some wild thing, noting its features and its ways, seemed to him perfect enjoyment.  His treasure was a collection, locked in a cupboard at home, of eggs, skeletons, butterflies, beetles, and I know not what.  His father regarded all this as harmless amusement, his mother contemptuously tolerated it or, in worse humour, condemned it as waste of time.  When at school the boy had frequent opportunities of pursuing his study, for he was in mid country and could wander as he liked on free afternoons; but neither the headmaster nor his assistant thought it worth while to pay heed to Humplebee’s predilection.  True, it had been noticed more than once that in writing an ‘essay’ he showed unusual observation of natural things; this, however, did not strike his educators as a matter of any importance; it was not their business to discover what Humplebee could do, and wished to do, but to make him do things they regarded as desirable.  Humplebee was marked for commerce; he must study compound interest, and be strong at discount.  Yet the boy loathed every such mental effort, and the name of ‘business’ made him sick at heart.

How he longed to unbosom himself to his father!  And in the first week of his holiday he had a chance of doing so, a wonderful chance, such as had never entered his dreams.  The town possessed a museum of Natural History, where, of course, Harry had often spent leisure hours.  Half a year ago a happy chance had brought him into conversation with the curator, who could not but be struck by the lad’s intelligence, and who took an interest in him.  Now they met again; they had one or two long talks, with the result that, on a Sunday afternoon, the curator of the museum took the trouble to call upon Mr. Humplebee, to speak with him about his son.  At the museum was wanted a lad with a taste for natural history, to perform at first certain easy duties, with the prospect of further advancement here or elsewhere.  It seemed to the curator that Harry was the very boy for the place; would Mr. Humplebee like to consider this suggestion?  Now, if it had been made to him half a year ago, such an offer would have seemed to Mr. Humplebee well worth consideration, and he knew that Harry would have heard of it with delight; as it was, he could not entertain the thought for a moment.