CHAPTER I. TWO SCHOOL-FELLOWS.

Dr. Burton’s boarding-school was in a ferment of hope and expectation. To-morrow was the end of the term, and vacation, so dear to the heart of every school-boy, was close at hand.

The school was not a large one. There were twenty-four boarding pupils, and an equal number of day-scholars from the village of Westville, in which the school had been established twenty years before. It was favorably situated, being only forty miles from New York. Half the boarding-scholars were from the city, and half from more distant places. 10Generally two or three pupils were sent to college each year, and, as the principal was a thorough scholar, maintained a creditable, often a high rank.

The school-session was over, and the boys separated into little knots. The day-scholars mostly went home, carrying their books under their arms.

Among the little knots we must direct particular attention to two boys, one a boarding-scholar, the other a day-scholar. The first was Gilbert Greyson, a handsome, spirited boy of sixteen; the other, John Munford, of about the same age, and much more plainly dressed. John was the son of a carpenter, of limited means, and had already begun to learn his father’s business. But the father was sensible of the advantages of education, and had permitted his son to spend six months of each year at school, on condition that he would work the balance of the time. This arrangement seemed fair to John, and he took care, whether he studied or worked, to do both in earnest.

“How do you feel about vacation, John?” asked Gilbert.

11“I was in no hurry to have it come, Gilbert. It is likely to be a very long vacation to me.”

“How so?”

“I have got through my school-life.”

“What! Are you not coming back next term?” asked Gilbert, with evident disappointment, for John was his most intimate friend.

“Neither next term, nor any other term, Gilbert, I am sorry to say.”

“Have you finished your education, then?”

“So far as school goes.”

“I am sorry for that. I shall miss you more than any one else.”

“We shall still meet, I hope. I shall be at work; but there will be times—in the evening—when we can see each other.”

“No doubt; but that won’t be like sitting at the same desk, and studying together. You had better let me ask your father to send you one more year.”

John shook his head.

“No, Gilbert, it ought not to be. My father is poor you know, and it has been a sacrifice to him 12to spare me half the year thus far. Now I must go to work in earnest, and perfect myself in my trade, that I may relieve him of all expense on my account.”

“I suppose you are right, John; but I shall miss you none the less. Somehow I never could be reconciled to your becoming a carpenter. You are not cut out for it.”

“Don’t you think I will make a good one?” asked John, smiling.

“I am sure you will; but that isn’t the question. Do you think you are better fitted for that than for anything else?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Do you prefer that trade to any other business?”

“No; but I can’t choose for myself. I should rather be a teacher, or a lawyer; but there is small chance for either. For either I should be obliged to study years, and I can’t afford to do that. A carpenter I am to be, and I will try to make a good one. Now, your case is different. You are going to school next year, I suppose?”

13“Yes, I suppose so. That is as my guardian determines, and no letter has been received from him yet. I believe Dr. Burton is expecting one to-day or to-morrow.”

“You won’t spend the summer here, I suppose, Gilbert?”

“I am hoping to make a little tour, as I did last year.”

“You went to the White Mountains then.”

“Yes, and had a jolly good time.”

“Where will you go this year?”

“I want to go to Niagara, stopping on the way at Saratoga. I have estimated that I can do it for a hundred dollars,—the same that my last summer’s trip cost me.”

“It must be splendid to travel,” said John, enthusiastically. “I mean to see something of the world some day, though I suspect that I shall be a pretty old boy before I am able to. I have no guardian to send me money. I must earn my money before I spend it.”

“I never earned a dollar in my life,” said Gilbert. 14“I wonder how it would seem if I had to support myself, and make my own way in the world.”

“It would seem hard at first. It comes natural to me; but then I have been differently brought up from you.”

“I rather envy you, John,” said Gilbert, thoughtfully. “You are so much more self-reliant, so much better able to take care of yourself.”

“It’s the difference in the training, Gilbert. I’ve no doubt it’s in you; but circumstances have never brought it out. You expect to go to Yale College a year hence, don’t you?”

“I expect to; at least that has been Dr. Burton’s plan; but my guardian has never expressed his opinion. He has simply given his consent to my pursuing the course preparatory to entrance. I presume I shall go, however.”

“What sort of a man is your guardian?”

“I have never seen much of him. He lives in the city, you know; but he never seemed to care to have me in his home much. He is a merchant, and appears to be wealthy. At any rate, he lives in a 15fine house up-town, and keeps up a good style of living.”

“Who appointed him your guardian?”

“I don’t know. I suppose my father.”

“Is your father living?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know!” exclaimed John, opening his eyes.

“It seems strange to you; but I cannot give any explanation. My guardian tells me I shall know some time; meanwhile I am to ask no questions.”

“Did that satisfy you?”

“No; but when I pressed my question I was silenced. I was told that I must be satisfied with being so well provided for, without trying to penetrate into matters that did not concern me.”

“I should think it did concern you.”

“So I do think; but there is no use in thinking about it. It would only perplex me to no purpose.”

“I can’t put myself in your place at all. To me it seems so natural to have a father and mother, and sister. How lonely you must feel!”

“I have never been used to them. And that 16makes a difference. Sometimes, to be sure, I begin to think over the matter and wish that I had ties like other boys; but it doesn’t last long. But here we are at your home.”

“Come in a minute, Gilbert.”

“I don’t know if I ought. I shall be late to supper, and the doctor wouldn’t like that.”

“Take supper with us.”

“Yes, take supper with us,” echoed John’s mother, a pleasant, motherly-looking woman, who heard her son’s words of invitation as he opened the door.

Gilbert hesitated.

The little table spread for tea looked so much more comfortable and home-like than the long table at the doctor’s, that he was strongly tempted.

“We may not have as nice a supper as the doctor,” continued Mrs. Munford, “but you may not mind that for once.”

“You give the doctor’s table too much credit,” said Gilbert, smiling. “He doesn’t mean to pamper any of us, or make us gluttons. I would a great deal rather take supper here.”

17“Then stay, Gilbert.”

“I will,” said Gilbert, in a tone of quick decision. “If the doctor scolds, why let him.”

“He won’t feel anxious about your not being back, will he?” asked Mrs. Munford.

“No; he knows I can take pretty good care of myself. Besides, it will be a saving to him, all the more because I have a very good appetite.”

All laughed, for Dr. Burton, though on the whole a very worthy man, had the reputation of being what New Englanders call close. It was thought that he was more economical than he needed to be. At any rate he had made his school profitable, and was assessed for a very considerable sum in the list of village property-holders.

“How do you do, Mary?” said Gilbert, offering his hand to a girl of ten, John’s sister, who just then entered the room.

“Pretty well,” said Mary, shyly.

“Don’t blush so, Mary,” said John, teasing her as brothers are apt to do.

“I wasn’t blushing,” said Mary, indignantly.

18“Just because Gilbert spoke to you.”

“You are too bad, John,” said his mother.

“How soon will supper be ready, mother?” asked John.

“In half an hour. Why; are you very impatient?”

“No; but I thought there might be time for Gilbert and me to have a catch in the yard.”

“I’ll tell you of a better way of filling up your time.”

“What is that?”

“I am almost out of wood. Can’t you saw me up a little?”

“I am afraid it will be dull to Gilbert to look on,” said John.

“I don’t propose to look on. You shall saw, and I will split.”

“I don’t like to set a visitor to work,” said Mrs. Munford. “I didn’t expect you to work for your supper.”

“I shall enjoy it all the more. Come along, John. 19You’ll see what execution I will make with your wood-pile.”

As the two boys passed out into the woodshed, Mrs. Munford said, “I like Gilbert. Though he is rich, he doesn’t put on any airs, but makes himself at home even among such plain people as we are.”