hirk his daily
lessons. Quite the contrary. Books and lessons were by no means
ignored between him and his father at such times. Almost oftener than
anything else, books and lessons came into their discussions. But a
lesson from a printed page, not very well understood, and learned on
compulsion, is one thing, and seldom a pleasant thing to any one
concerned. But lessons explained and illustrated by his father as they
went slowly through fields and woods together, were very pleasant
matters to David. Even the Latin Grammar, over whose tedious pages so
many boys have yawned and trifled from generation to generation, even
declensions and conjugations, and rules of Syntax, and other matters
which, as a general thing, are such hopeless mysteries to boys of nine
or ten, were made matters of interest to David when his father took them
in hand.

And when it came to other subjects--subjects to be examined and
illustrated by means of the natural objects around them--the rocks and
stones, the grass and flowers and trees--the worms that creep, and the
birds that fly--the treasures of the earth beneath, and the wonders of
the heavens above, there was no thought of lesson or labour then. It
was pure pleasure to David, and to his father, too. Yes, David was a
very happy boy at such times, and knew it--a circumstance which does not
always accompany to a boy, the possession of such opportunities and
advantages. For David firmly believed in his father as one of the best
and wisest of living men. This may have been a mistake on his part,
but, if so, his father being, what he was--a good man and true--it was a
mistake which did him no harm but good, and it was a mistake which has
never been set right to David.

So that day was a day to be marked with a white stone. Don got a more
energetic rubbing down, and an additional measure of oats, on the
strength of the pleasant prospect, for David was groom, and gardener,
and errand boy, and whatever else his mother needed him to be when his
younger brothers were at school, and all the arrangements about his
father's going away might be safely trusted to him.

It was a beautiful day. The only traces that remained of the premature
winter that had threatened them on Sunday night, were the long stretches
of snow that lingered under the shadows of the wayside trees and fences,
and lay in patches in the hollows of the broken pastures. The leafless
landscape, so dreary under falling rain