CHAPTER XII.
Now the warfare of life had fairly begun for little Jerome Edwards.
Up to this time, although in sorry plight enough as far as material needs went--scantily clad, scantily fed, and worked hard--he had as yet only followed at an easy pace, or skirted with merry play the march of the toilers of the world.

Now he was in the rank and file, enlisted thereto by a stern Providence, and must lose his life for the sake of living, like the rest.

No more idle hours in the snug hollow of the rock, where he seemed to pause like a bee on the sweets of existence itself that he might taste them fully, were there for Jerome.

Very few chances he had for outspeeding his comrades in any but the stern and sober race of life, for this little Mercury had to shear the wings from his heels of youthful sport and take to the gait of labor.

Very seldom he could have one of his old treasure hunts in swamps and woods, unless, indeed, he could perchance make a labor and a gain of it.