Mark well, Smith minor, that this is no little Paul Dombey of whom you are reading.

B.-P., so far as I can discover, never heard in the tumbling of foam-crested waves on the level sands of the sea-shore any mysterious message to his individual soul from the spirit world.

He was full of fun, full of the joy of life, and as "keen as mustard" on adventures of any kind.

His fun, however, was of the innocent order.
He was not like Cruel Frederick in _Struwwelpeter_, who (the little beast!) delighted in tearing the wings from flies and hurling brickbats at starving cats.

Baden-Powell would have kicked Master Frederick rather severely if he had caught him at any such mean business.