At length he paused under the shade of an old oak, that, too old to be of value save for firewood, had escaped the axe.
The tree stood on a knoll, and the spot commanded a view of the decayed house, the dilapidated church, the dreary village.
"Oliver," said Randal, between his teeth, so that his voice had the sound of a hiss, "it was under this tree that I first resolved to--" He paused.
"What, Randal ?" "Read hard: knowledge is power!" "But you are so fond of reading." "I!" cried Randal.

"Do you think, when Wolsey and Thomas-a-Becket became priests, they were fond of telling their beads and pattering Aves?
I fond of reading!" Oliver stared; the historical allusions were beyond his comprehension.
"You know," continued Randal, "that we Leslies were not always the beggarly poor gentlemen we are now.

You know that there is a man who lives in Grosvenor Square, and is very rich,--very.

His riches come to him from a Leslie; that man is my patron, Oliver, and he--is very good to me." Randal's smile was withering as he spoke.

"Come on," he said, after a pause,--"come on." Again the walk was quick, and the brothers were silent.
They came at length to a little shallow brook, across which some large stones had been placed at short intervals, so that the boys walked over the ford dryshod.