This will give a very fair idea of Harry’s essay.  There was nothing remarkable about it, and no striking originality in the ideas, but it was very creditably expressed for a boy of his years, and did even more credit to his good judgment, since it was an unfolding of the principles by which he meant to guide his own life.

It must not be supposed that our hero was a genius, and that he wrote his essay without difficulty.  It occupied him two evenings to write it, and he employed the third in revising and copying it.  It covered about five pages of manuscript, and, according to his estimate, would fill about two-thirds of a long column in the “Standard.”

After preparing it, the next thing was to find a nom de plume, for he shrank from signing his own name.  After long consideration, he at last decided upon Franklin, and this was the name he signed to his maiden contribution to the press.

He carried it to the post-office one afternoon, after his work in the printing office was over, and dropped it unobserved into the letter-box.  He did not want the postmaster to learn his secret, as he would have done had he received it directly from him, and noted the address on the envelope.

For the rest of the week, Harry went about his work weighed down with his important secret—­a secret which he had not even shared with Ferguson.  If the essay was declined, as he thought it might very possibly be, he did not want any one to know it.  If it were accepted, and printed, it would be time enough then to make it known.  But there were few minutes in which his mind was not on his literary venture.  His preoccupation was observed by his fellow-workmen in the office, and he was rallied upon it, good-naturedly, by Ferguson, but in a different spirit by Clapp.

“It seems to me you are unusually silent, Harry,” said Ferguson.  “You’re not in love, are you?”

“Not that I know of,” said Harry, smiling.  “It’s rather too early yet.”

“I’ve known boys of your age to fancy themselves in love.”

“He is is more likely thinking up some great discovery,” said Clapp, sneering.  “You know he’s a second Franklin.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” said our hero, good-humoredly, “but I don’t deserve it.  I don’t expect to make any great discovery at present.”

“I suppose you expect to set the river on fire, some day,” said Clapp, sarcastically.

“I am afraid it wouldn’t do much good to try,” said Harry, who was too sensible to take offence.  “It isn’t so easily done.”

“I suppose some day we shall be proud of having been in the same office with so great a man,” pursued Clapp.

“Really, Clapp, you’re rather hard on our young friend,” said Ferguson.  “He doesn’t put on any airs of superiority, or pretend to anything uncommon.”

“He’s very kind—­such an intellect as he’s got, too!” said Clapp.

“I’m glad you found it out,” said Harry.  “I haven’t a very high idea of my intellect yet.  I wish I had more reason to do so.”