Upward and onward

"Maybe I shall! He is as likely to attain a distinguished position as Warren Hastings was."

"Is that the Mr. Hastings who was member of Congress for B.?" asked Eugene Augustus.

"No!" said the Doctor, briefly, while Mrs. Huntley hastily gave some orders to the servant in waiting to conceal her amusement.

"I thought you might allude to him," returned the sapient youth. "I knew his family were of very low origin."

"His father was an excellent and industrious man," replied Dr. George; "and your father learned his trade in the same work-shop with him. But as to this matter of Robert's," turning to his wife, "I think he is well prepared to profit by an advanced school, and I shall advise him to go to the academy."

"I shall be very glad to have him there," returned Mrs. Huntley; "it will be good for him in more ways than one. Mr. Whitney is a sensible and conscientious man, and will, I doubt not, do all in his power for him. But what arrangement do you propose to make with Robert?"

"I shall offer to give him his board and clothes for what he can do out of school. He can pay for his tuition himself with the money he has earned during the summer, and still have something over for the savings bank. He can not invest his earnings better, in my opinion, than in acquiring a good education. I might pay for his schooling, I suppose—"

"Better not," interposed his wife; "it will do him twice as much good if he pays his own way."

"I think so myself, and so I am sure will he."

"But what will people say, Doctor?" asked Eugene. "How will the genteel and respectable families who patronize the academy, like to have such a pupil introduced—a boy whose father is in the poor-house, and who works for his board?"

"They will not object to any one I choose to send, I dare say," said the Doctor quietly. "He may probably meet with some slights from under-bred young persons, who show their own vulgarity by their horror of people who work for a living; but he is pretty well able to hold his own. I will speak to him about the matter this very afternoon, as I shall take him out with me in the buggy."

"Have you begun to think what you are going to do this winter, Robert?" asked the Doctor, accordingly, as they were riding together.

"Yes, sir, I have been thinking about it a little."

"Well, and what conclusion have you come to?"

"I should like to keep on living with you better than any thing else, but then—" Robert paused.

"But then what?"

"I don't know what you will say to such an idea, but I can not help feeling as though I should like to get an education. I have no one dependent on me, now that Mark and Celia both have good homes. I have learned a great deal since I came here, thanks to your kindness and Master George's, and I can not help feeling as though I should like to learn more. But I owe every thing to you, and I want to be guided by you entirely." Robert colored, as he finished this speech, and seemed to fear that he had been guilty of a great piece of presumption.

"Do you look forward to a profession, Robert?" asked Dr. George with one of his benevolent smiles, which did not look at all as if he were offended.

"Well, sir, I am afraid you will think it very ridiculous, but I have thought of it sometimes."

"Why, as long as I am a professional man myself, I really don't see why I should think so, Robert."

"Yes, sir, but then your family and all your circumstances are very different from mine."

"I do not exactly see what that has to do with the matter," said the Doctor. "However, if you are to be a lawyer or doctor, you must have an education, you know. Now, I have a plan to propose to you. I don't want to part with you at all, because we are all attached to you, and it would be long before I should find any one else who would suit me as well. Neither do I think that there is any need of it. I will get you entered at Mr. Whitney's academy, which you are well prepared to profit by. You can continue to live here, and I will give you your board and clothes for what you can do before and after school. You have money enough beforehand to pay your school bills and purchase your books, and still have something left at the end of the winter. What do you think of this plan?"

"I am sure I should be the most ungrateful wretch that ever lived, if I did not like it," said Robert, in a faltering tone. "It is just what I have wanted to mention to you this long time, but I was afraid you would think me very bold to think of such a thing. I was afraid, too, that I could not work enough out of school to pay for my board. But I assure you I will do my very best. II it had not been for you and Mr. Ellison, I should have been beyond hope by this time—perhaps in the State's prison, like Joe Adams, or like poor Charley."

"Well, well, Robert, we won't talk about that at present. You have pretty well repaid me for all that I have done for you thus far. I must warn you before you enter school, that you may perhaps meet with some disagreeable things. You know there are always weak-minded and vulgar people in the world who endeavor to demonstrate their own elevated position by looking down upon others. These are almost invariably under-bred persons who have something in their own origin of which they are ashamed. You may perhaps meet some of them in school, and be a little annoyed by their airs. I advise you not to mind them in the least, but keep on your own way without regarding them. Be careful to give no offense, and do not be ready to take it."

"I will try not to, sir. But it is hard work not to let people know what you think of them, when they give themselves such airs." And Robert let out his whip-lash and took off the top of a tall thistle, which might or might not have represented Eugene Augustus in his mind.

"There is no use in letting them know, my dear boy. The knowledge does them no good. You may tell the greatest fool in the world that he is a consummate blockhead, and he will never believe you, while you will make him your enemy for life. The best way is, to go on your own course and let other people take theirs. You may be sure that your teacher will take at your true value, and he is the person you are to strive to please. Keep all the rules of the school rigidly, so long as you are a member of it, no matter whether you consider them reasonable or not. Endeavor not to lose a single moment or a single recitation, for you will find it very hard to overtake. Leave nothing behind you that you do not conquer, for if you do, it will always annoy and hinder you. Do not be deterred from asking for explanations when you need them, for fear that people will think you stupid. Take it good-humoredly if they laugh at you, and laugh in return. Above all, remember that in every thing you are dependent upon God for success and for strength against temptation, and never begin or end a day without asking for his blessing. I will go with you this evening to see Mr. Whitney, and arrange your studies."

The visit was made accordingly, and the next Monday, Robert entered the school, feeling strangely awkward and ashamed in his new circumstances. He could not help wishing that none of the boys knew any thing about his former way of life; but as this was a vain wish, he thought the next best thing was to make them forget it. So he went to work very hard, and very soon showed that he was inferior to no one in natural capacity, though he was, of course, very much behind-hand in many acquirements. He had, however the very great advantage of being well-grounded in the rudiments of education, an advantage not always possessed by those who have been to school all their lives. Many a scholar suffers all through his school-course from not having acquired clear ideas of the first four rules of arithmetic.

Mr. Whitney and his assistants were much pleased with Robert's diligence and good behavior, and gave him all the assistance he needed, and he soon began to take a high place in his classes, often getting above those who had been in school much longer than himself. This made him enemies among the dunces, of whom there are always some in every school; and one boy in particular, named Henry Hyde, was very angry at being outstripped by a boy who worked for his board, and determined to revenge himself on the first opportunity.

"How is your father, Bob?" he asked one day, after he had, as he thought, received fresh provocations from Robert in school.

"He is well, I believe," said Robert, rather absently, and hardly looking up from his book.

"Has he returned from his country-seat yet?" continued Henry, determined to provoke a quarrel.

Bob's face flushed, but he returned no answer.

"I hope he enjoys his retirement, and pray, have you heard lately from Mr. Joe Adams? I remember he used to be a particular friend of yours. I understand he is finishing his education in a public institution; pray do you intend to graduate in the same school?"

"No!" replied Bob. "That is too aristocratic for me. I leave it to your cousin, John Carford, and his friends."

"Do you mean to insult me, you blackguard?" asked Henry, bristling up.

"No!" replied Bob. "I have no desire to do any thing of the kind. I only want to show you that two can play at your game. I do not think the less of you because your cousin is in State's prison, nor any more of you because your father is a rich man. I know you are angry because I got above you; but your chance is as good as mine, and you may do the same to-morrow. I have no desire to quarrel with you, or with any one else." So saying, he returned to his book.

"Well said, Bob!" exclaimed Philip Myers, who was standing near with several of the other boys. "You hold your own, and we will stand by you. Come, Hal, don't make a fool of yourself!"

"You mind your business, Phil. Myers," said Henry, "and I'll attend to mine. As for you, Mr. Robert Merritt, I'll teach you to put yourself on a level with gentlemen. Just please to march off this play-ground, and not show your face here again. If we have to put up with your company in school hours, we won't do it here! March, I say!"

Robert closed his book, and rising, looked his opponent straight in the face. "Henry Hyde," said he, "be pleased to let me alone; I have as much right here as yourself; and here I will stay. I know my faults and misfortunes a great deal better than you can tell them to me. I know very well that I might have been in State's prison myself by this time, if I had not had kind friends to help me when I tried to help myself. I hope I shall never forget what I was, at the time you speak of; never, as long as I live; but it is no affair of yours. I shall remain here when and how I please, and if you do not like my company, you are welcome to keep out of it."

With these words, he was about to resume his seat and his book, when Henry, almost beside himself with rage, struck him a severe blow in the face. Robert had acquired a wonderful command over his naturally impetuous temper. He did not, happily for his antagonist, return the blow, but he caught him by both his arms and held him as in a vice. Writhe and kick as he would, he could not free himself.

"Well done, Bob!" shouted the boys, as they gathered round to see the fray. "Give it to him, old fellow; he deserves it! 'Cuff him well, for a puppy as he is."

"I have no desire to hurt him," said Bob, still holding his prisoner fast. "I never fight if I can help it, and then only with those of my own size. Come, Hal, don't be in such a passion! Own that you are sorry, and I will let you go."

"I won't," sobbed Hal; "I'll die first!"

"Then I shall have to hold you till the bell rings," said Robert, "and that won't be pleasant to either of us. I can not have you striking me, you know."

But Henry would not give up, and Robert accordingly held him fast, despite his struggles, till the bell rung, when he released him. And quietly settling his own dress, walked into school and took his seat, as though nothing had happened.

That evening, as Dr. Huntley's family were sitting round the lamp, engaged in their usual avocations, a ring was heard at the door, and in a moment Mr. Hyde entered in a state of great excitement.

"I have come, Dr. Huntley," said he, almost without returning the polite salutations of the Doctor and his wife, "to request you to remove your hired boy from the academy, where he never ought to have been allowed to set his foot. I request that it may be done at once—at once, sir."

"But why, Mr. Hyde? What has Robert done to excite such violent indignation?"

"Done, sir! He has insulted my son—my son, sir, and has gone so far as to leave the marks of his hands on his person. He has insulted him brutally, sir; and Henry shall never be allowed to enter the school again unless this boy is removed. You have affronted the community by placing him there at all—a common vagabond about the streets! It is shameful, sir—scandalous!"

"Mr. Hyde," said the Doctor, in a voice which seemed to bring the angry little man to his senses a little, "you will please to be a little more select in your language when speaking to me. I will inquire into the affair, and then I shall be able to form some idea how far my boy has been to blame." He rang the bell as he spoke. "Send Robert here directly, Chloe! Well, Robert, what is this story? Have you had any quarrel with Henry Hyde?"

"No, sir; Henry quarreled with me!"

"Don't be insolent, young man!" interposed Eugene Augustus in a lofty tone.

"Leave the matter to me, if you please, Mr. Mandeville," said the Doctor; "I am able to manage my own family without any assistance. Let me hear the whole story, Robert."

"If you please, sir," said Robert, turning a look of calm disdain upon Mr. Mandeville, "I would rather some one else should tell it. Perhaps you will let me go for John Vanderburgh, who saw the whole affair."

"A very good suggestion," returned the Doctor; "you may go over and call him. We will suspend our judgment a few moments, Mr. Hyde."

Robert soon returned, accompanied by John Vanderburgh.

"Come, John," said his uncle, "let us hear the whole story of the fight between Robert and Henry."

"There was no fight at all, uncle," replied John. "Robert got above Henry in the class, and that made him angry; so when we came out at recess, he went up to Robert, who was reading, and began to twit him about his father's being in the poor-house; and asked him when he was going to see his friend, Mr. Adams, in State's prison. Then Robert said, there were other people besides himself that had friends in State's prison, or something like that; and Hal called him a blackguard, and asked him if he meant to insult him. Robert said no, but he wanted to be let alone; that he did not think any the worse nor the better of Henry for things that he could not help, and that Henry would have a chance to get back his place to-morrow. Henry called him names, and ordered him to leave the play-ground, and Bob said he would stay as long as he pleased. Then Henry struck him in the face with his fist, and Robert took hold of him and held him fast till school began. He said he would not fight a boy not as strong as himself, and he never struck Henry at all, sir, only held him."

"Is that the whole story, Robert?" asked the Doctor.

"That is all, I believe, sir," said Robert, modestly.

"You see, Mr. Hyde," pursued the Doctor, turning to that gentleman, who had listened in silence to John's account of the fray, "that your boy gave the first provocation."

"It would seem so, indeed," returned Mr. Hyde thoughtfully. "But Henry seems to think that Robert took an unfair advantage of him in the class."

"He didn't, sir!" replied John eagerly. "It was all fair and honorable, and so Mr. Whitney will tell you. Robert studies very hard, and gets up almost every day."

"You may go, Robert," said Dr. Huntley. "I am sure, Mr. Hyde," he continued, when Robert had closed the door, "you would not have this poor boy deprived of the advantages of a good school for such a trifling affair, especially when it appears clearly that he is not the one most to blame. As to his former history, it appears to me to furnish an excellent reason for keeping him where he is, and giving him every inducement to maintain a good reputation. He has now been with me more than a year, and saving on one occasion, when he was led away by bad company, I have found him every thing I could wish. He is very desirous to educate himself, and pays his own way, and it really appears to me that he is as well entitled to the advantages of the institution as your son or mine."

Mr. Hyde's anger had now had time to cool. Though a passionate, he was also a kind-hearted man, and he now readily admitted the truth of Dr. Huntley's remarks.

"Certainly! You are right, Doctor, quite right; and I beg your pardon, as well as Mrs. Huntley's, for being so warm. Henry is a hot-headed lad—a little like his father in that, eh?—and I presume he was provoking. It vexed me, I own, to think that a boy who, two years ago, was a common vagabond in the street, should lay hands on my son; but I see I was wrong; I must say, young Merritt appears very well; does you great credit, in fact, and I should be sorry to injure him. But may I ask you, sir, when Robert has acquired an education, what will you do with him then?"

"Take him into the office, perhaps, as my father did Bowen, you remember. Jack is none the worse surgeon, that he studied medicine in the stable, as it were."

"No, certainly not; though some people cast it up to him, I understand, and call him a horse-doctor."

And again apologising for his warmth, the little gentleman bade the Doctor good evening, and retreated.

Henry was very much amazed, and a good deal disappointed, when his father returned, to find that he was not at all disposed to fight his battles for him, and still more on being told next morning to go to school and behave himself like a gentleman in future, his ill-temper being considerably augmented by knowing that Robert had all the boys on his side. He went to school in a very bad humor, and when Robert bade him good morning, as usual, he turned away without making any answer.

"Come, Hal," said Robert, following him, "don't let us keep up this foolish business any longer; I was wrong to speak of your cousin, perhaps; but then you begun it, and you know I told you I did not think, the worse of you on that account."

"You need not have held my arms so," returned Hal, half-relenting, "and made all the boys laugh at me."

"What would you have me do?" asked Bob, smiling. "I did not want to fight you, and I would not have you strike me, you know. You almost gave me a black eye as it was. Come, now, shake hands and be friends."

Henry was not naturally a sullen boy, and his anger yielded almost in spite of himself, to Robert's determined good nature; he accepted the offered hand, and they entered the school-room together. Mr. Whitney was glad to see that the affair was settled without his interference, and the boys admired Robert's readiness to forgive and forget, and Hal's ready acknowledgment of having been in the wrong.

After this, Robert had very little more trouble in school. He was obliged to work hard to accomplish his tasks without neglecting his home duties, but he was strong and hardy; he did his best, and both teacher and employer were too reasonable to expect impossibilities. His only discomfort now arose from the conduct of Mr. Mandeville, who was always supercilious, and often very provoking, being determined, as he said, to make Robert "keep his place," a phrase very much in use among people who are not very well assured of their own position. The Doctor was obliged sometimes to interfere and keep the peace between them, and nothing but Robert's respect and regard for his employer, kept him from expressing his opinion of Eugene Augustus in very plain terms.

Little Mark also went regularly to school this winter, and improved very fast in all respects, under the good feeding and good management of his new home. His master and mistress were kind and considerate people, who made all due allowances for his faults, and did not give him up as a hopeless case because he now and then told a story, or helped himself to a bit of sugar. They strove to correct his faults as fast as they appeared, taught him as much as they could, and prevented instead of punishing, whenever it was possible. Thus Mark was very happy, and seemed likely to become in time a very good boy.

Celia continued to like her home more and more, and to improve in every respect. She came home to Mrs. Huntley's to spend Thanksgiving, and Robert and Mark took their Christmas dinner at Mrs. Dennison's. Celia was delighted to have Bob going to such a good school, and learning so much, and they built a good many pleasant castles in the air, when talking over their plans and prospects. Celia herself, though she did very well at school, was fonder of work than of study; she began already to distinguish herself as a seamstress, and showed a degree of taste in making dresses and caps, which indicated a promising talent for millinery. She was very "smart about house," as Aunt Nancy said, and did all sorts of work very well, but her chief pleasure was in sewing. And Mrs. Huntley began seriously to think of advising her to learn the business of dressmaking after she should have remained long enough at Auntie Dennison's to become a thorough housekeeper.

CHAPTER XI.

WE must now ask our readers to pass hastily over a period of about two years, during which time nothing particularly worthy of notice occurred to our hero and heroine.

Robert continued to live at the Doctor's, going to school in winter and working in the garden in summer, and employing all his spare moments in study and reading. He had been steady so long that scarcely any one remembered his having been any thing else, and if his former delinquencies were spoken of, it was only as a striking proof, that no one, however unpromising, ought to be considered quite hopeless.

He made rapid progress in all his studies, and became extremely fond of every department of natural science, especially chemistry, and during the last winter of his stay in school, he was able to render essential service to the chemical professor in preparing his experiments. He had taken a class in Sunday-school, and was a faithful and successful teacher, being particularly earnest in visiting and instructing those of his class, (and there were several such,) whose condition at all resembled that of his own early life; for though others might forget his former circumstances, Robert himself never did, and he often spoke to Mr. Ellison of the morning when he first went to work in the parsonage garden.

"That morning," said he one day, "was the beginning of all that was good in me."

Celia still lived at Mrs. Dennison's, but more as a daughter than a servant. She had thought and talked a little of going to learn the trade of dressmaking, for which she had a special aptness, but Mrs. Dennison seemed so grieved at the idea of parting with her that she gave it up, and remained very contentedly on the farm. She could now fearlessly undertake the whole business of churning, and do it as well as Auntie Dennison herself, besides being remarkably skillful in all the finer arts of cookery, for which Mrs. Dennison had always been renowned.

By dint of constant painstaking, she had become extremely neat in her work as well as in her person, and Aunt Nancy declared that she was the only "young gal" she ever saw who could do up a plain muslin cap as it ought to be; even Jane herself could not make them look as well. She had, moreover, acquired very sweet and winning manners, and though not what is called accomplished, she was sufficiently well-educated. She had grown-up into a tall handsome girl, and was beginning to attract a good deal of attention from the young men in the neighborhood, several of whom began to manifest such a deep interest in Mr. Dennison's high-bred cattle and improved stables, that it was quite remarkable to see them.

Her first offer was from poor Hewson, whose wife never recovered from the injuries she received by her unlucky fall into the cistern, but died three months after the accident. Her husband was quite disconsolate, and indeed entirely inconsolable at first. But by degrees, as the poignancy of his grief abated, he found out that his house was even more uncomfortable than usual, and beginning to look out for a successor to his lost partner, he cast his eyes upon Celia, not in the least doubting that she would, as he elegantly expressed it, "jump at the chance of getting a good-looking husband, and a home, of her own."

Accordingly, he began to spend long evenings at Mr. Dennison's, much to the discomfort of Celia, who could not imagine what he came for, as he never seemed to have any thing to say, and to the mingled amusement and annoyance of Mrs. Dennison, who, as she said, saw plainly enough which way the wind blew. When Mr. Hewson at last made his offer to Celia, which he did in the shape of a letter, written on green paper, with a pink envelope, she could hardly understand what he meant, and carried the epistle to Mrs. Dennison, who happened to be engaged in skimming milk in the cheese-room.

"I have got the queerest letter here, Auntie," she said. "It is from Mr. Hewson, and I don't know what to make of it at all. He seems to want me to come and live with him. I wonder if he is going to be married?"

Mrs. Dennison rested the skimming-dish on the edge of the pan and took the letter.

"You little goose," she exclaimed, laughing heartily as she read it, "don't you see into it? The man wants you to marry him yourself."

Celia opened her eyes in blank amazement and read the letter again, and as the truth dawned upon her, she sat down upon an empty butter firkin, and laughed till she cried.

"It is a serious matter, Celia," said Auntie Dennison, at last, wiping her eyes and taking breath; "I am surprised to see you laugh so. Only think of the advantages Mr. Hewson offers you—a nice house all ready to go into, and plenty of furniture to begin house-keeping with."

"And a nice open cistern, all ready to tumble into whenever I pleased," continued Celia; "I don't believe he has made a cover to it yet."

"He has not, I know, for I noticed it the other day. Well, Celia, my dear, I have no desire to part with you, and if you want to get married, I have no kind of doubt that you can do better by waiting a little; but, however, you must decide for yourself. Perhaps you had better consult Robert about it."

"Dear me, no! He would never leave off laughing at me in the world. But what do you think I had better do about it? I am sure I can never answer him with a straight face."

"You don't mean to have him, then, I conclude?"

Celia held up her hands in horror. "The idea of my having any body. I think I will wait till I get my growth first. I had to let the tucks out of my frock yesterday. I wish you would ask Mr. Dennison to speak to him about it, for I am sure I never can."

Mr. Dennison accordingly informed Mr. Hewson that Celia was much obliged to him for his offer; but she did not want to leave her home, and considered herself quite too young to think of matrimony yet.

"Just as she likes," replied the lover, philosophically, "'taint every girl that has such a chance to get a house of her own. But it's just my luck; I always was the most unfortunate of mortals. Every thing goes against me. Well, it is more her loss than mine, that's one comfort."

Mr. Dennison did not think so, but he kept his opinion to himself, feeling it quite a comfort to be relieved of Mr. Hewson's company, who went quietly on his way as before.

We may as well say here, for the information of those who have taken an interest in that "lone and lorn" individual, that he found some one to have him. About three months after Celia's refusal, he married a widow, a little, thin, dried-up woman, with a tongue that ran unceasingly, and a love of neatness and order that amounted to an absolute passion. Under her hands, the house and farm soon assumed a new aspect, the cistern was covered, the doors mended, the house cleaned, and Mr. Hewson was seen going about his work with more swiftness and purpose than ever he had done before. His wife's tongue was sharp as well as swift, and her will unconquerable, and he soon found that if he meant to have any peace at all, he must, as she expressed it, toe the mark. But this complete revolutionizing was quite too much for him, and he died two years after his second marriage.

Robert was now nineteen, a tall, well-grown young man, with a tolerably good education, and very agreeable, gentlemanly manners. He was quite one of the family at the Doctor's, who would have been much at a loss what to do without him. He now began to think seriously of his future prospects, and to consider what he was going to make himself. He felt that he could not bind himself down to any mechanical occupation, however respectable and necessary, while all his tastes led him to incline towards the study of medicine. He had always hoped that Dr. George would offer to take him into the office, but he had not yet done so, and Robert did not like to speak first. He would have given a great deal to be able to go through college, but he could not see his way at all in that direction, though he tried very hard.

The more he thought, the more bewildered he grew, and his perplexity really began to affect his health and spirits, though remembering the comforting promise, "Commit thy way unto Him and he will bring it to pass," he strove to wait in patience for its fulfillment.

Dr. Huntley saw his trouble and guessed the cause of it, and with characteristic kindness, he determined to try and clear his path for him. Their first conversation on the subject took place, as did all their confidential talks, as they were driving together in the country.

"How old are you, Robert?" asked the Doctor, by way of opening the subject.

"Past nineteen, sir. I was nineteen two months ago."

"And you have been with me more than three years. It hardly seems longer ago than yesterday that you first came to work in my garden. But you have done and learned a great deal in that time."

"Yes, sir, thanks to you!"

"Well, you are old enough to think what you are going to do with yourself."

"So I think myself; sir," replied Robert.

"Which way are you looking—towards a profession or a trade?"

"I am rather thinking of a profession, sir."

"So I supposed," said the Doctor; "and what profession do you prefer?—For I presume you have made up your mind."

"I should prefer the study of medicine, sir. I have always had a strong inclination for it, ever since I began to think about such things."

The Doctor smiled kindly. "That is as I hoped, Robert; for although I would not for a moment oppose your taking up any other respectable occupation, but on the contrary I would further your wishes as far as I was able, yet I do not feel as though I wanted to part with you at all. You see I take it for granted that you mean to study with me."

"Of course, sir," replied Robert. "I hope you do not imagine that I would think of going to any one else. If you will take me into your office, it will be the height—that is—" said he, correcting himself, "it will be the accomplishment of one of my dearest wishes."

"But not the height of your ambition, eh?" said the Doctor, noticing the correction. "Come, now, be frank, for I know there is something behind, and tell me what is the height of your desires."

Robert hesitated, colored, and then with his eyes steadfastly fixed on his horse's ears, he said: "I have thought I should like to go to college, sir."

"Whew!" whistled the Doctor. "Go to college, eh? I had never thought of that. Then you don't think you have learned quite enough yet, it seems."

"Why, no, sir. If I had thought so, I should not have wanted to study medicine."

"Well, that is true. You know, I suppose, that it would take you four years to go through."

"I think not, sir. I was talking to Philip Myers about it yesterday, and I find I know enough already to enter the Sophomore Class, so there is one year off."

"True; that shortens the time, and of course lessens the expense considerably. I suppose you think you would be a better doctor for reading Greek tragedies and all else that people do at college."

"I do not know about that, Doctor, but I think I should feel better satisfied with myself, and as I have often heard you say, no knowledge can come amiss in any station, though Mr. Mandeville does think that no man can make good shoes who understands geometry."

"Mr. Mandeville is a gosling!" said the Doctor, in a parenthesis.

"And beside all that, it seems to me to be a duty to learn all one can. Then, if the heart is right, the more knowledge a man possesses, the more good he can do in the world, as I have often heard you say."

"I must be careful what I say, if I am to be quoted to such an extent," said the Doctor, smiling. "Well, Robert, my boy, I like your ideas on the subject very well. But we must take into consideration the ways and means. You know it will take a good deal of money to go through college; how do you propose to get it?"

"That is just where I do not see my way, sir," replied Robert somewhat sadly. "If I had a trade, I could make my way by that; but I have none, and I am afraid I could not earn enough by gardening."

"I should think not, but what do you say to teaching school? A great many young men do that."

"I never thought of it, sir. It did not occur to me that I could teach school."

"It is, however, a very common way of getting through, and, I think, a very good one. It gives a man confidence in himself, reveals to him the extent of his own resources, and is moreover an excellent discipline for acquiring exactness, patience, and steadiness of temper, three things, let me tell you, very essential to a physician."

"I am afraid I do not know enough to teach school."

"Why not? You understand very thoroughly arithmetic, grammar, and geography, which are the main things to be taught, and you possess another qualification very necessary to the government of children, namely, very quiet, gentlemanly manners. What, then, should hinder you from teaching a district-school successfully?"

"I do not know, except that I never thought of it."

"Then, if you do not entirely pay your way," continued his friend, "the college authorities are always ready to give credit to promising young men until they make enough to pay for their education. I have known it done in several cases."

"I don't think I should like that as well, sir. I have always had a perfect horror of running in debt ever since you first helped me out of mine to poor Child's. I should not study with any comfort unless I knew I was paying my way."

"Still, if we can not do as we will, we must do as we can, you know. But we will keep the matter in mind, Robert, and I am sure some way will present itself."

The evening of the day on which this conversation occurred, Mr. Vanderburgh and his wife dropped in to spend the evening at the Doctor's. Mr. Vanderburgh had quite given up his persuasion that Robert would come to the gallows, and had become very fond of him.

"Well, and how is Bob getting on?" he inquired in the course of the evening. "He must be pretty nearly ready to begin life for himself, I should think. And what does he mean to do, eh?—For I suppose you are in his confidence of course."

"He is going to study medicine," replied the Doctor; "but he has set his heart upon going to college first."

"To college, eh? He is an aspiring young man. To college—well, it is natural enough, too, but who would have thought of it three years ago? It's a world of changes, ain't it?"

"It certainly is," replied the Doctor; "there is no denying it. I only wish all the changes were as much for the better as Robert's. He is very anxious to finish his education, and I am equally desirous to have him do so, if we can only manage the pecuniary part of the matter."

"How could he do it?" asked Mrs. Vanderburgh. "It costs a good deal, first and last."

"He might make his way by teaching school I presume. To be sure, he would have to work very hard, but not harder than a great many young men; and he has the great advantage of perfect health, a cheerful temperament, and most indomitable perseverance. I spoke to him of getting credit for his tuition till he should have finished his medical studies and got into practice, but he has such a horror of running in debt, that he will not hear of it."

"And very right too, in my opinion," said Mr. Vanderburgh. "It is a bad thing, a very discouraging thing for a young man to begin the world in debt. And yet he wants to go to college, and ought to go, too," he continued, musingly, turning his spectacles round and round, and wiping them with his handkerchief, as was his custom when he was meditating. "You say he has made good use of his advantages thus far—was a good scholar at the academy, eh?"

"Whitney says he never had a better," returned Doctor George, "and he always tells plain truth, you know."

Mr. Vanderburgh stopped wiping his spectacles, put them on, and then pushed them up on his forehead; by which signs, those who knew his ways saw that his musings had arrived at a happy termination. "I am thinking of a plan for him," said he, "which I think will be just the thing, but I don't know what you will say to it."

"I shall know when I hear it," replied the Doctor; "and at any rate he will thank you for taking an interest in his affairs, for no kindness is lost on him."

"Or on his sister," remarked Mrs. Huntley; "they are certainly two very fine young people."

"This is my plan, then," began Mr. Vanderburgh. "You know, I suppose, that I have a scholarship in B— University?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I have always meant to reserve it for Jack, thinking to make a lawyer of him, and I confess I had quite set my heart on it. But now that he is old enough to make up his mind, Jack don't like the idea at all, and says he wants to be an engineer, like his uncle Gordon, who will be very glad to take him. I would a little rather have him study law; but after all, he has a genius for mathematics, and his health is much better when he is out of doors, as he says himself. If he were an idle lad, who only wanted to take up an outdoor life to get rid of work, I would not hear of it; but that isn't the case, for though he is my own boy, I will say for him, that a better or more faithful lad never lived. And though he is quite set on this engineering scheme, he says he will give it up and study law if I say so. But I don't want to cross his inclinations unnecessarily, and I have about come to the conclusion to let him have his own way. Then there is my scholarship of no use to me, eh?"

"Well!" said the Doctor, beginning to see into his brother-in-law's idea.

"Well, I am bound to fill it, at some rate, you see, and get the worth of my money. Now here is Robert, a good steady young man, who has made great efforts to render himself respectable and get a good education, and he wants to go to college. Now, what can I do better than to put this same steady, industrious young man into my scholarship, eh?" And Mr. Vanderburgh flourished his white handkerchief, as who should say: "See how clever I am! Now, you would never have thought of that!"

"He will be greatly obliged to you, William, and so, I am sure, shall I," said Dr. George, shaking his brother-in-law's hand heartily. "I could not feel the kindness more, if it were my own boy."

"Nor I," added Mrs. Huntley. "It will be good news to him, poor fellow, for he has been quite in despair about his prospects lately."

"Tut! Tut!" said Mr. Vanderburgh, returning his brother's pressure of the hand. "That isn't any thing; I should have been glad to have any one do as much for me when I was a poor boy. But you think this will answer his purpose?"

"Admirably," replied the Doctor. "He would not wish for any thing better. Now he will have nothing to provide for but his board and clothes, which he can easily do without any more hard work than is good for him. I can not speak for a certainty, to be sure, but I think I may safely say, William, that you will never repent of your kindness."

"Oh! I never expect to. If the boy does not turn out well, (but he will,) I may be sorry that the advantages were thrown away on him, but I shan't be sorry that I have done him the kindness. Not at all! I believe I never did that. Well, if you all approve the plan, suppose we call the young man in and communicate the matter."

Robert was according summoned, and Mr. Vanderburgh explained his projects with certain rhetorical flourishes, which would have brought a smile to the Doctor's face but for the respect which he felt for his brother-in-law's kindness.

Robert listened in silence till Mr. Vanderburgh had finished, and then as that gentleman paused for a reply, he said in a low and faltering voice: "I am very much obliged to you, sir, for your kindness, and I will try—" His feelings entirely overcame him, and he burst into tears.

"Come, come, Bob, you mustn't be hysterical," said Mr. Vanderburgh, while his own eyes glistened. "I owe you something, you know, to pay for prophesying such a sad end to you so many times. So you think it will suit you, eh?"

"I am sure, sir, I don't know what to say, except that I am very much obliged to you," said Robert, recovering himself a little. "It is just what I wanted. I have had it so very much at heart, but I could not see my way through. I hope I shall be able to repay you some day, as well as all the other friends, who have been so kind to me. I—I am not a good hand at expressing myself, sir, but I hope you will understand what I mean to say."

"Perfectly well, Robert, perfectly well, my boy! No occasion to say any more, I assure you."

"And since you wish to make some present proof of your gratitude, you may do it by cracking a basket of butter-nuts and bringing them in," said Mrs. Huntley, who saw that Robert would be glad of an excuse to escape from the parlor.

He left the room accordingly; but before going for the nuts, he ascended to his own apartment, and there poured out his whole soul in thankfulness for the good conferred upon him—a good so much beyond his highest expectations, and dedicated solemnly to the service of God those talents which He had given with the means to improve them.

When he returned to the parlor, he had quite regained his composure, and was able to enter calmly and soberly into the conversation on his plans and prospects. So the matter was settled. He was to go in two or three weeks to B., to be present at the commencement, to pass his examination, and to find a suitable boarding-place.

Celia was almost as much delighted with her brother's prospects as he was himself, and the brother and sister made a great many pleasant plans as they talked the matter over.

Little Mark felt at first rather dissatisfied that Bob should go to college and be a doctor while he should be only a shoemaker. But upon his "Boss" representing to him that people wanted shoes as much as they wanted medicine, and that moreover there was nothing in the world to prevent his studying what he pleased as soon as he had finished learning his trade, and being besides presented with the Lives of Celebrated Shoemakers by Robert, he became quite contented with his lot, and wished his brother all success, promising to make a pair of boots for him by the time he left college.

We have for some time heard nothing from Mr. Merritt. He was now a permanent inmate of the county hospital, having been disabled, soon after his wife's death, by a stroke of the palsy, which considerably affected his mind. He was still able to use his hands a little, and was employed in various small matters about the house. Robert went frequently to see him and carry him some little luxury or indulgence not furnished by the institution; his father always seeming glad to see him, and taking a great deal of pride in his being such a well-dressed, handsome young man. He had now and then fits of violence, when it became necessary to confine him for a short time, but in general he was gentle and happy, seeming to have quite forgotten his former way of life, and never expressing any desire to return to it. It was rather painful to the children to have their father dependent on public charity in any degree, but they feared if he were taken away from the restraints of the hospital and placed in the midst of familiar things, his old appetite would return; so they contented themselves with clothing him out of their earnings, and doing what else they could for him where he was.

Robert went with Dr. Huntley to B. to attend the commencement, and after passing an excellent examination, entered his name as a member of the Sophomore Class. He had some trouble in finding a suitable boarding-place, but at last succeeded in engaging a room with a widow lady, who supported herself and her daughters by taking boarders. His vacation was employed partly in study and partly in hard work in the garden, and as harvest-hand for Mr. Dennison, by which means, as men were scarce and wages high, he increased considerably his stock of ready money, besides having the pleasure of spending two or three weeks with Celia. At the end of the vacation, he departed for B., and was soon deeply engaged in his studies, and gaining great credit, both as a bright scholar and a steady, well-conducted young man.

CHAPTER XII.

WE shall not attempt to follow our friend Robert through his whole college career; suffice it to say, that he worked hard, and kept himself conscientiously out of the way of temptation, endeavoring to behave himself in all things, as became a Christian and a gentleman. When he had resided in B. about three months, an unexpected assistance presented itself, in the shape of an offer of the place of teacher of mathematics and Latin in a private school, a situation which he was very glad to accept. The salary was rather small, to be sure, but still it was something, and his duties did not occupy more than two hours a day, which left him ample time to pursue his studies. He found great advantage to himself from his exertions, not only in a pecuniary point of view, but also as it obliged him to reexamine the foundation of his information, in imparting elementary knowledge to others.

Robert did not make a great many acquaintances, except among his class-mates, with whom his good temper and cheerfulness made him a great favorite, notwithstanding his steady refusal to join in any of those doubtful performances which are sometimes called sprees, and sometimes frolics. He was always ready for a ball-play or a ramble at a proper time, and entered into them with great spirit; but his class-mates knew very well that it would be in vain to ask Merritt's assistance in any unlawful frolic, and the sensible ones among them respected him the more for his steadiness. He visited sometimes in the families of the professors, especially the professor of chemistry, with whom he soon became a great favorite, and in whose parlor or study he was always a welcome guest.

There was one other family in which he felt at home—that of Mr. Compton, an old college friend of Dr. Huntley's, and a very cultivated and intelligent man, to whom he had been introduced when he first came to B. Mrs. Compton was a very kind and extremely elegant woman, and her friendship was of great service to the young man, who, aware of his own deficiencies, was not too proud to learn of any one who was kind enough to teach him. There he frequently spent his evenings, and here it one day chanced that he met his old acquaintance, Mr. Eugene Augustus Mandeville.

Eugene Augustus had given up the study of medicine, as too fatiguing and disagreeable, and was now spending his spare time in a law-office, where he professed to be qualifying himself for the bar, though none of his friends had very strong expectations of his passing an examination.

The meeting chanced in this wise. Robert had come in, as he often did, soon after tea, and finding Mr. Compton examining some daguerreotypes, then a new discovery, he at once plunged with that gentleman into a profound discussion on the chemical effects of light, and as chemistry chanced to be a hobby of his host's as well, they were soon deep in the mysteries of the science, Mrs. Compton and her daughters entering with interest into the subject, when the doorbell rung, and in a moment Eugene Augustus walked in, in all the majesty of a faultless suit of clothes, and irreproachable boots. Mrs. Compton looked a little annoyed; for, sooth to say, that charming youth was no favorite of hers; but she was always well bred, and therefore giving him a graceful welcome, she turned round and presented him to "my young friend, Mr. Merritt."

Eugene Augustus looked astonished, and felt as though he wanted to rub his eyes to assure himself of the reality of the vision. Here was Robert Merritt, whom he had a hundred times seen at work in a blue frock and overalls, whom he had last beheld on the box of the Doctor's carriage, actually sitting in Mr. Compton's parlor, and very evidently upon equal terms with the finest people in B.; people, indeed, who were quite too fine to care whether they were fashionable or not. He could not understand it at all, but of one thing he was very sure—that there was some mistake, some gross imposition on Robert's part—that Mr. Compton could not know his true history—and he determined that he should be informed of it on the first opportunity. Meanwhile, he would do all in his power to put this presumptuous youth down to his proper position.

"Why, Robert, is this you?" he said, in a tone of surprise, but with great condescension. "I supposed you were still 'working' at Dr. Huntley's."—A particular emphasis on the word "working," which was intended to be very stinging.

"I am, in vacation time," replied Robert, smiling, though his cheek flushed a little.

"Indeed! In vacation! You are probably teaching in some public school. I congratulate you upon your advancement."

"Thank you; but your congratulations are uncalled-for, as I am only teaching in a small private school at present."

"Mr. Merritt is in the University," said General Compton, with some emphasis; "and, as I am assured by his teachers, takes a very high place there."

"Oh! Indeed!" replied the discomfited young gentleman, who felt himself rather uncomfortable under the General's tone and glance, and still more so under the politely repressed smiles of the young ladies. "I did not know—I was not aware that Robert had left Grandville—I—in fact, I was quite surprised at seeing him."

"Very naturally so," said Robert with perfect composure. And then returned to his examination of the photographs, and his conversation with his host, leaving Mr. Mandeville to his own devices, and the tender mercies of the young ladies.

Eugene, as may well be supposed, did not spend a very pleasant evening, but he was determined to outstay Robert at all events. And accordingly, when the latter arose, a little after nine, to take his leave, he bade him good evening in a most lofty tone, and still retained his seat, much to the annoyance of the ladies.

"You have met Mr. Merritt before?" remarked Miss Compton, by way of saying something.

"Oh! Yes—that is, not exactly met him; but—in fact, I never was more surprised in my life, than I was to see him here; and I think it no more than right that you should know his true history, before he imposes on you any farther."

"Thank you!" returned Mrs. Compton, in rather a peculiar tone, but which Eugene Augustus took for encouragement.

"Well, the fact is, that when I was in Grandville, this person lived at Dr. Huntley's as groom and stable-boy, and did all the work about the place. He was, though of the very lowest origin, greatly inclined to be insolent at that time, and I was often obliged to make him know his place, especially after the Doctor, who is a most eccentric man, allowed him to attend the academy: but I never thought he would have the brazen impudence to pass himself off on you as a gentleman. How he comes to be in the University, I can not conceive."

"The matter is easily enough explained," said Mr. Compton, quietly. "Mr. Vanderburgh of Grandville has a scholarship in the University, and as his own son inclines to an out-of-door life, he very kindly, and, in my opinion, very wisely, bestowed it upon young Merritt. As to his being here, that is also easily explained. He was introduced to me by Dr. Huntley himself, who is a very particular friend of mine, and who told me his whole history. I was much interested in him, not only from the fact of his having educated himself, in a great measure, by his own exertions, but also because he is really a very modest and remarkably well-informed young man; and as he rides the chemical hobby as well as myself, we agree very well. I hope to be able to serve him essentially when he shall have finished his studies, and shall take great pleasure in doing so; for a more deserving, and I will add, a more agreeable young man I have seldom met."

This speech, though delivered in the blandest manner, did not, as may be imagined, tend to make Eugene feel any more at his ease. He found he had made a mistake all round, and he did not exactly see which way to retreat. So he wisely judged it best to let the matter drop entirely, and made his exit, feeling as though he should not care about calling at Mrs. Compton's again in some time.

Robert, however, was not at all discomfited by his encounter, nor did he visit his friends at all the less. Through their kindness, he became acquainted with some other cultivated families, whose society made his stay in B. very pleasant. He did not, however, allow his social enjoyments to draw him in the least degree from his studies, feeling that he owed it to those friends who had given him the means of improvement, to make the most of his advantages. His friends, on their part, were entirely satisfied with him, and George Huntley himself was scarcely more welcome home in vacation time than Robert.

George had finished his collegiate course, and was pursuing his studies for the ministry, when Robert returned home for his last college vacation. And the two young men held a great many serious conversations while they were working together in the garden, or resting at noon at harvest and haying-time; for Robert still continued to work for Mr. Dennison during those busy seasons, and George was very fond of lending a hand.

"I could almost find it in my heart to envy you, George," said Robert on one of these occasions, "though I am not dissatisfied with my own decision, mind. But you will have such powers for usefulness in your hands—such grand opportunities of doing good!"

"And also such great and fearful responsibilities," replied George; "don't forget that. I assure you that though I am, as you say, not at all dissatisfied with my decision, I often tremble at the thought of what is before me. I do not suppose I shall ever have as much influence as Mr. Ellison; but when I spend a day with him and see how he is looked up to for advice and instruction in the gravest matters, my heart sinks at the idea of bearing half the burden. But you will have opportunity enough of doing good if you are faithful. Look at my father! There is hardly a minister in the land that does more than he."

"I shall never be like your father," said Robert; "it is not in me. Indeed, if it were possible, I would rather be a tutor in a college or some such institution, with an ultimate view to a professorship, than to study medicine at all, but of course I shall not think of such a thing."

"Why not?" asked George.

"Oh! Because your father has set his heart on my studying with him, and of course I should not dream of acting contrary to his wishes, when I owe to him, under God, all that there is of good about me."

"But if my father knew which way your wishes tended, he would advance them to the extent of his power, I am certain."

"That is the very reason I do not want him to know, and I beg that you will not intimate such a thing to him. But after all, if any such situation should offer, I should be all the better prepared for it by going through a regular course of medical study. So don't, for the world, say that I am at all dissatisfied, for indeed I am not. To think," he continued in a musing tone, "how wonderfully my prospects have changed since I first knew your father! And there is one thing that has surprised me, George."

"If there is only one thing that surprises you, you are more fortunate than most people. There are a dozen things that surprise me every day. But what in particular?"

"Just this," replied his friend, "that every body is so ready to forget all about the first part of my career, and to lend me a helping hand. To be sure there is now and then a dunce like Mandeville, who tries to look down upon me; but as a general thing, the moment a man tries to help himself, there are plenty of people to assist him; and as soon as he shows a desire to become respectable, they begin to respect him."

"Then you don't think," said George, smiling, "that the rich always oppress the poor, and look down on them."

"It may be so in some instances, but they have not come under my observation. I have often heard people talk in that way, but they have always been either those whose poverty was the least of their faults, scheming politicians who were fishing for votes, or else extremely ignorant people. For myself, I have found too many friends ever to believe any such cant. I only wish I could in any way repay their kindness to me."

"You will have a great many opportunities of being of service to my father," remarked George. "He has always had a tendency to absence of mind, and I can see that it grows upon him. If you are at his elbow, you can save him from a great many uncomfortable mistakes, and a deal of annoyance; for he always feels badly when he finds that he has made a blunder. He is as fond of you as if you were his son, and you can serve him a great many times when a stranger could not."

"I know it," replied Robert, "and I desire nothing better than to be able to do so; and I beg you once more, George, never to hint to him that I have ever thought of any other line of life."

George gave the required promise, and Robert returned for his last year in college, fully determined to devote himself heart and soul to the study of medicine. He graduated with great honor, and then immediately returned to Grandville, and entered the Doctor's office, where he gave himself to the study of his profession with as much ardor as he had done to his college pursuits. He was constantly on the watch for opportunities of being of service to the Doctor, who, as George had remarked, was growing absent-minded; and he often stood between him and annoyance, by finding lost papers and reminding him of forgotten engagements, so that Dr. George was wont to say, he could as well dispense with his right hand as with Robert.

Especially was this the case, when the death of Maude in her early womanhood, threw a deep shade of sadness over the hitherto happy family. Robert had loved Maude as an own sister, and his unobtrusive sympathy and heart-felt grief endeared him still more to the family, who now treated him in all respects as a cherished son and brother. He passed through his course of medical study as he had done through his college course; working hard, and never doing less than his best; and having passed an excellent examination, he was admitted to partnership with the Doctor, and soon obtained a fair share of the confidence of the community.

About the time that Robert left college, Celia was married to a young farmer in the neighborhood—a man of some property, and in every way unexceptionable, who wanted a good wife to take with him to Michigan, where he owned an excellent new farm. Auntie Dennison made a grand party on the occasion, to which all the Huntleys and Vanderburghs, as well as Mr. Ellison's family, were invited; at which time she fairly outdid herself in cookery, providing cakes, pies, preserves, and all other good things in such quantity and variety, that Robert laughingly told her he hoped she would make two or three more such after he got his diploma, as in that case he should be sure of plenty of patients; whereupon she promised to celebrate that event by another feast of fat things.

Celia looked very pretty and happy in her wedding-dress, presented by Mrs. Huntley. And among the property which Mr. and Mrs. Bradbury carried with them to their new home, was a securely-packed crate of crockery, including among other things, a pretty china dinner and tea-set, a nice set of silver spoons, Bob's present, and a plentiful "plenishing" of table and bed-linen, blankets and comforters, all the bridal gifts of her friends.

Mrs. Dennison missed her sadly, and Aunt Nancy said the house was not like the same place without her; she did not think she should ever take, to another girl as she had to Celia. But when Mr. Dennison went to the city one day, and brought home a pretty, delicate little girl from the orphan asylum, the kind-hearted old lady "took" to her as readily as she had done to Celia, and soon loved her like a daughter.

Mark, who was now a stout, well-grown lad of thirteen, went with his brother-in-law. His kind master having died, his friends thought he could not do better than to go out to a new country where, as Mr. Bradbury expressed it, "there was twice as much room for a boy to grow up, as there was in a stifled-up place like Grandville." So Mark left his shoemaker's bench, and went out to the West to be made a farmer of.

We will now leave our young people, and passing over an interval of no less than twenty years, we will take a peep at the homestead and family of a thriving farmer in Michigan. It is a pretty white house of two stories, and is charmingly shaded with trees; on one side is a flourishing garden, on the other a beautiful meadow stretches its velvet green down to the borders of one of those charming little lakes which are the pride and beauty of Michigan. The front door stands invitingly open, and indeed, it is seldom closed during the day-time in summer, and a glimpse through a door which opens into the wide hall, shows a parlor neatly furnished, most invitingly cool, and perfumed by freshly gathered flowers, among which shines conspicuously, a vase of splendid water-lilies.

But there is no body at present in the parlor, nor yet in the dining-room, where the table, ready set for tea, with its plates of bread, cheese, and cakes of all sorts, its dishes of fresh and preserved fruits, and its two neat mats, suggestive of hot additions yet to come, all make us think of Auntie Dennison. If we want to find any body, we must pass through the hall, across the back-piazza, and open the kitchen-door. There is a great fire in the stove, although it is a summer evening, and a warm bluish haze pervades the atmosphere, together with a smell of frying and baking, which reminds us not disagreeably, that we have not had our supper, and that there is something in the air of Michigan which makes people hungry.

Can this be Celia coming out of the milk-room, with a brimming pitcher of rich cream in one hand and a plate of butter crowned with sparkling ice in the other? Certainly it looks very much like Celia as we knew her twenty years ago; but it can not be she. No, it is Miss Maude Huntley Bradbury; and Miss Maude, is sixteen and begins to feel very grown-up, indeed. There is Celia Bradbury, looking over those strawberries, with a high apron protecting her nice white dress. If you look out of the door you will see certain flaxen heads intently looking over the gate, and down the road, who answer to the names of John Vanderburgh and Jane Dennison, and Richard Ellison and Georgiana Maria Bradbury, the last-mentioned young lady being considerably shorter than her name, for Michigan folks have a passion for grand titles, and in general, the less children have of any thing else, the more names they possess.

But if you want to see the mother of all these promising young people, as no doubt you do, you must wait a minute, for Mrs. Bradbury has retired to make her toilet; she will return in time to give the last touches to the fried chicken, and to take the biscuits out of the oven herself, for Uncle Robert and his wife are coming to-night. Mr. Bradbury and Robert the younger, have gone down to the station with the carriage, and now John Vanderburgh and Jane Dennison run a race to the house to announce that they have heard the cars.

Well, the biscuits are done just in time, so Mrs. Bradbury takes them out of the oven and folds them in a nice white napkin, that they may be piping hot, and setting the chicken off the fire, she goes to the door to look out for herself.

Here they are!—Here they come! And Mrs. Bradbury runs down to the gate, and is at once enfolded in the arms of a tall and stout gentleman, with dark eyes and brown curling hair, who certainly bears a strong resemblance to our friend Bob. Then Mrs. Merritt is embraced in her turn; and Mrs. Merritt looks very much as the youngest Miss Compton used to. Then various little Merritts are lifted down, and being taken in custody by the young Bradburys, are conducted in triumph to the house, amidst kisses and questions and exclamations, and a vast amount of general confusion.

Well, by and by, they have eaten supper, and the younger children have, in a manner, subsided and gone to bed. Now the elders sit down to have a quiet chat, and to take a good look at each other, which they have hardly been able to do yet for the noise of the young ones. Celia notices how large and stout Robert has grown, and how thoughtful he looks, and a nearer inspection discovers several threads of gray in his hair and whiskers, which have no business to be there; but, then, he has always worked so hard. Robert laughs at Celia for growing so fat, and tells her she will soon be as stout as Aunt Nancy.

"And how is the dear old Doctor?" asks Celia.

"Very well," returns Robert, "and very happy. He seldom goes out now except to church and to ride, but he is very well and enjoys himself greatly. Mr. Vanderburgh spends a great deal of time with him since his wife died, and if Mary marries and goes away, I think he will go to live at the Doctor's. John is in your neighborhood, so I need tell you nothing about him."

"When have you seen Auntie Dennison?"

"Just before I left. She is the same good soul as ever, and just as fond of making people eat too much. The little girl they took from the Orphan Asylum has been a great comfort to them."

"Mr. Ellison is the same as ever, I suppose?"

"Just the same, only more so, as they say out here. He does not seem to grow old in heart at all, and is just as fond as ever of having young people about him. George Huntley works with him heart and soul, and is just the assistant that he ought to have. On the whole, he is as happy a man as one will often see."

"I should really like to go back and see Grandville again," said Celia, thoughtfully; "though I suppose there have been a great many changes since I was there."

"Oh! Yes, a great many," replied Robert. "You would hardly know the place. However, there are some landmarks still remaining, and our old house is one of them."

"Still that must be very much altered."

"Yes, it is more like what it was in grandfather's time, though I have been obliged to enlarge it a good deal. It is one of the prettiest places in the village. Ah! Celia, do you remember that evening the cow got into my garden—the evening Mr. Vanderburgh gave Mr. Ellison such an account of us?"

"Remember it! Yes, indeed, and how we went to church the next Sunday evening, and how you went to work in the parsonage garden next day. I wonder if Mr. Vanderburgh ever remembers what he used to prophesy about you."

"Not at all. The old gentleman tells every one that he knew from the first I would turn out well. He told me the last time I went away to P., to my lectures, that he always knew I was cut out for a professor. I did not say any thing to the contrary, for, indeed, but for him I should never have been one."

"I don't know that," said Celia. "It would have been harder, no doubt, but I think you would have made your way first or last. Not but that you owe him a great deal. And, by the way, do you remember that Mr. Mandeville, who used to provoke you so? What has become of him?"

"He is a fourth or fifth-rate lawyer in B.," said Robert. "He just passed his examination, and that was all, and now he practices when he can get a chance, which is not often. He never had wit enough to make a living."

"You stopped to see Mark, I suppose?" said Mr. Bradbury.

"Oh! Yes, and found him as comfortable as can be, with a nice little house, and a nice little wife and baby. He seems to be prospering in every way."

"Yes, Mark is doing very well now," remarked Celia. "He made us a little uneasy at one time, lest he should fall into bad habits; but he had the sense to stop in time, and he now bears a very good character, and seems likely to be well off. After all, Robert, we have turned out pretty well, for all we were such a hard set, as Mr. Vanderburgh said."

"Yes, thank God, we have nothing now to be ashamed of. But if we had not found just the right kind of people to help us, we might have been badly off in spite of our efforts. It was only the good old Doctor's forbearance and patience that saved me from utter destruction; if he had dealt with me according to my deserts, I should have been—God only knows where—by this time."

The large family Bible, Mrs. Ellison's wedding present, was soon brought and put into Robert's hands. He selected the one hundred and seventh psalm:

   "Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and the wonders that he doeth for the children of men.

   "Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he hath redeemed from the hand of the enemy.

   "For he satisfieth the longing soul, and filleth the hungry soul with goodness.

   "He brought down their soul with heaviness: they fell down and there was none to help them.

   "Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them out of their distress. He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death, and broke their bonds in sunder.

   "Oh! that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for the wonderful works that he doeth for the children of men."