“You will do very well, Bobby.  Ellen would never forgive me if I let you go any where else.  So that is settled; you will go to my house.  Now, you may sit here, or walk out and see the sights.”

“If you please, sir, if Mr. Timmins will let me look at some of the books, I shouldn’t wish for any thing better.  I should like to look at the Wayfarer, so that I shall know how to recommend it.”

“Mr. Timmins will let you,” replied Mr. Bayard, as he touched the spring of a bell on his desk.

The dapper clerk came running into the counting-room to attend the summons of his employer.

“Mr. Timmins,” continued Mr. Bayard, with a mischievous smile, “bring Mr. Bright a copy of ‘The Wayfarer.’”

Mr. Timmins was astonished to hear “Country” called “Mister,” astonished to hear his employer call him “Mister,” and Bobby was astonished to hear himself called “Mister;” nevertheless, our hero enjoyed the joke.

The clerk brought the book; and Bobby proceeded to give it a thorough, critical examination.  He read the preface, the table of contents, and several chapters of the work, before Mr. Bayard was ready to go home “How do you like it, Bobby?” asked the bookseller.

“First rate.”

“You may take that copy in your hand; you will want to finish it.”

“Thank you, sir; I will be careful of it.”

“You may keep it.  Let that be the beginning of your own private library.”

His own private library!  Bobby had not got far enough to dream of such a thing yet; but he thanked Mr. Bayard, and put the book under his arm.

After tea, Ellen proposed to her father that they should all go to the Museum.  Mr. Bayard acceded, and our hero was duly amazed at the drolleries perpetrated there.  He had a good time; but it was so late when he went to bed, that he was a little fearful lest he should oversleep himself in the morning.

He did not, however, and was down in the parlor before any of the rest of the family were stirring.  An early breakfast was prepared for him, at which Mr. Bayard, who intended to see him off, joined him.  Depositing his little bundle and the copy of “The Wayfarer” in the valise provided for him, they walked to the store.  The porter wheeled the trunk down to the railroad station, though Bobby insisted upon doing it himself.

The bookseller saw him and his baggage safely aboard of the cars, gave him a ticket, and then bade him an affectionate adieu.  In a little while Bobby was flying over the rail, and at about eight o’clock, reached B——.

The station master kindly permitted him to deposit his trunk in the baggage room, and to leave it there for the remainder of the week.

Taking a dozen of the books from the trunk, and placing them in his valise, he sallied out upon his mission.  It must be confessed that his heart was filled with a tumult of emotions.  The battle of life was before him.  He was on the field, sword in hand, ready to plunge into the contest.  It was victory or defeat.