He had a sick father, and the family had hard work to get along.

This was Little Paul.
His mother insisted upon sending him to school while there was anything left to procure the necessaries of life; and as there was little for him to do at home, he was allowed to join the club, because his parents knew how much he loved the sports on the lake, and that nothing but good influences would be exerted upon him in the association.
Paul Munroe was a good boy, in every sense of the word; and though he had never been able to do much for his parents, they regarded him none the less as one of their choicest blessings.

As Tony expressed it, Little Paul's heart was in the right place; and it was a big heart, full of warm blood.
His father sat in an easy-chair by the kitchen stove as he entered, and a smile played upon his pale blue lips as his eyes met the glance of his loving son.
"Well, Paul, did you win the race ?" he asked, in feeble tones.
"No, father; the Zephyrs beat.

Frank Sedley rather outgeneraled Tony, and his crew were more used to pulling than we.

But Frank is a first-rate fellow." "Isn't Tony ?" "That he is! They are both first-rate fellows; I don't know where there are two other such fellows in the world." "You are right, Paul; they are good boys, and we shall be sorry to take you away from them." Little Paul looked inquiringly at his father.