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One night he
sent for him to supper, and invited no one else. During the evening he
drew out Eric's exercise, and compared it with, those of Russell and
Owen, who were now getting easily ahead of him in marks. Eric's was
careless, hurried, and untidy; the other two were neat, spirited, and
painstaking, and had, therefore, been marked much higher.
"Your exercises _used_ to be far better--I may say incomparably better,"
said Mr. Rose; "what is the cause of this falling off?"
Eric was silent.
Mr. Rose laid his hand gently on his head. "I fear, my boy, you have not
been improving lately. You have got into many scrapes, and are letting
boys beat you in form who are far your inferiors in ability. That is a
very bad _sign_, Eric; in itself it is a discouraging fact, but I fear
it indicates worse evils. You are wasting the golden hours, my boy, that
can never return. I only hope and trust that no other change for the
worse is going on in your character."
And so he talked on till the boy's sorrow was undisguised.


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