Foachim the Mimic. 73

All at once, he caft his eyes on his Mother’s
face—that face fo full of intelligence and the mild
forrow of years of widowhood, borne with re-
figned patience. Her eyes were full of tears, and
there was not a {mile on her countenance. Jo-
achim’s confcience—he knew not why—twinged
him terribly. He ftopped fuddenly; ‘* Mother!”

“Come here, Joachim !”” He came.

“Is that boy whom you have been imitating—
your Aunt fays fo cleverly—the bef? walker of all
the boys in your {chool ?”

“ The be/t, Mother ?” and the puzzled Joachim
could not fupprefs a fmile. His Coufins grinned.

“ Dear Mother, of courfe not,” continued Jo-
achim, “ on the contrary, he is the very worft !”

“ Oh—well, have you no good walkers at your
{chool ?”

“‘ Oh yes, feveral; indeed one efpecially ; his
father was a foldier, he walks beautifully.”’

“ Does he, Joachim? Let me fee you walk
like him, my dear.”

Joachim ftepped boldly enough into the middle
of the room, and drew himfelf up; but a fudden
confcioufnefs of his extreme inferiority to the
foldier’s fon, both in figure, manner and mode of
walking, made him feel quite fheepifh. There
was a paufe of expectation.

“ Now then!” faid Joachim’s Mother.

*¢ T cannot walk like im, Mother,’ faid Jo-
achim.

_& Why not ?”