on
it all as rare sport. When Valentine was away she was welcome to visit
at the house with the child; not otherwise. The carpenter could not
bear the child's crying. He was growing more and more querulous and
discontented from day to day. Ivo saw Emmerence now and then, but the
two children had a certain dread of each other. Ivo, particularly,
reflected that it was not proper for a future clergyman to be so
intimate with a girl. He often passed Emmerence in the street without
speaking to her.

In other respects, also, he was gradually warped away from his favorite
associations. When he went into the stable, according to custom, to
help Nat feed the steer, the cow, and the dun, his father would often
drive him out, saying, "Go away! you have no business in the stable. Go
to your books and learn something: you're to be a gentleman. Do you
think a man is going to spend all that money for nothing? Hurry up!"

With a heavy heart, Ivo would see the other boys ride the horses to
water or sit proudly on the saddle-horse of a hay-wagon. Many a sigh
escaped his breast while translating the exploits of Miltiades: he
would rather have been on the field by the target-place, raking the
new-mown grass, than on the battle-field of Marathon. He would jump up
from his seat and beat the empty air, just to give vent to his thirst
for action.

He was also enstranged from his home by the occupation of his mind with
matters of which no one around him had ever heard. He could not talk
about them with anybody,--not even with Nat. Thus he was a stranger in
his own home: his thoughts were not their thoughts.

Nat beat his brains to gladden the heart of the poor boy whom he so
often saw out of spirits. Ivo had told him with delight of the pretty
dovecote which the judge's sons had at home: so Nat repaired the old
dovecote, which was in ruins, and bought five pairs of pigeons with his
own money, and peas to feed them with. Ivo fell upon his neck when, one
morning, without saying a word, he took him up into the garret and made
him a present of it all.

Of a Sunday morning Ivo might have been seen standing under the
walnut-tree, in his shirt-sleeves, with his arms folded, watching his
little treasures on the roof, as they cooed and bowed and strutted and
at last flew into the field. From possessions which he could hold in
his hand, which walked the earth with him, he had now advanced to such
as could only be followed with a loving look. It was