boyhood--for the squire had an idea that the time devoted in play was
foolishly spent, inasmuch as it brought him in no pecuniary return. He
was willfully blind to the faults and defects of his system, and their
utter failure in the case of his own son, and would, if could, have
all the boys in town brought up after severely practical method. But,
fortunately for Harry, Mr. Walton had very different notions. He was
compelled to keep his son home the greater part of the summer, but it
was against his desire.

"No wonder he's a poor man," thought the squire, after his visitor
returned home. "He ain't got no practical idees. Live and learn! that's
all nonsense. His boy looks strong and able to work, and it's foolish
sendin' him school any longer. That wa'n't my way, and see where I am,"
he concluded, with complacent remembrance of bonds and mortgages and
money out at interest. "That was a pooty good cow trade," he concluded.
"I didn't calc' late for to get more'n thirty-five dollars for the
critter; but then neighbor Walton had to have a cow, and had to pay my
price."

Now for Hiram Walton's reflections.

"I'm a poor man," he said to himself, as he walked slowly homeward, "but
I wouldn't be as mean as Tom Green for all the money he's worth. He's
made a hard bargain with me, but there was no help for it."

CHAPTER IV. A SUM IN ARITHMETIC

Harry kept on his way to school, and arrived just the bell rang. Many of
my readers have seen a country schoolhouse, and will not be surprised to
learn that the one in which our hero obtained his education was far
from stately or ornamental, architecturally speaking. It was a one-story
structure, about thirty feet square, showing traces of having been
painted once, but standing greatly in need of another coat. Within were
sixty desks, ranged in pairs, with aisles running between them. On one
side sat the girls, on the other the boys. These were of all ages from
five to sixteen. The boys' desks had suffered bad usage, having been
whittled and hacked, and marked with the initials of the temporary
occupants, with scarcely an exception. I never knew a Yankee boy who was
not the possessor of a knife of some kind, nor one who could resist the
temptation of using it for such unlawful purposes. Even our hero shared
the common weakness, and his desk was distinguished from the rest by "H.
W." rudely carved in a conspicuous place.

The teacher of the school for the present session wa