to which his ambition inclined him.  His name was Slosson, and in the far-off country he fell in with two young men of his own age who were of similar ambition.  But they were even poorer than Slosson, and what particularly grieved them was the fact that their lineage was obscured by dark clouds of doubt.  That is to say, they were unable to determine with any degree of positiveness whether they were of noble extraction; their parents refused to inform them, and consequently they were deeply distressed, as you can well imagine.  Slosson was much charmed with their handsome bearing, chivalric ways, and honorable aspirations, and his pity was evoked by their poverty and their frequent sufferings for the very requirements of life.  Freely he shared his little all with them, in return for which they gave him their gratitude and affection.  One day Slosson wrote a letter to his sister Mary Matilda, saying:  “A hard winter is coming on and our store of provisions is nearly exhausted.  My two friends are in much distress and so am I. We have accomplished a political revolution, but under the civil service laws we can hardly expect an office.”

Mary Matilda was profoundly touched by this letter.  Her tender heart bled whenever she thought of her absent brother, and instinctively her sympathies went out toward his two companions in distress.  So in her own quiet, maidenly way she set about devising a means for the relief of the unfortunate young men.  She made a cake, a beautiful cake stuffed with plums and ornamented with a lovely design representing the lost Pleiad, which you perhaps know was a young lady who lived long ago and acquired eternal fame by dropping out of the procession and never getting back again.  Well, Mary Matilda put this delicious cake in a beautiful paper collar-box and sent it in all haste to her brother and his two friends in the far-off country.  Great was Slosson’s joy upon receiving this palatable boon, and great was the joy of his two friends, who it must be confessed were on the very brink of starvation.  The messages Mary Matilda received from the grateful young men, who owed their rescue to her, must have pleased her, although the consciousness of a noble deed is better than words of praise.

But one day Mary Matilda got another letter from her brother Slosson which plunged her into profound melancholy.  “Weep with me, dear Sister,” he wrote, “for one of my companions, Juan, has left me.  He was the youngest, and I fear some great misfortune has befallen him, for he was ever brooding over the mystery of his lineage.  Yesterday he left us and we have not seen him since.  He took my lavender trousers with him.”

  As you may easily suppose, Mary Matilda was much cast down by this
  fell intelligence.  She drooped like a blighted lily and wept.

  “What can ail our Mary Matilda?” queried her mother.  “The roses have
  vanished from her cheeks, the fire has gone out of her orbs, and her
  step has lost its old-time cunning.  I am much worried about her.”