ual to the hour of recitation,
had gradually fallen into a habit of more lively and discursive inquiry
than that furnished within the dull range of his text-books. He had a
singularly fearless manner of challenging the inexplicable in thought and
life, with a light conversational flow of much brilliancy. Moreover,
he was a delightful dreamer.

We had our recitation, for quiet, in one of Grandma's gloomy and
mysterious keepin'-rooms. The only object inviting to sedentary posture
in this room was Grandpa's huge "chist," which occupied a position
"along side" the East window. Those sacred window curtains, of green
paper, flowered with crimson roses, were never rolled up; but as the
light strayed in at one side, and fell on the Cradlebow's fine head,
often I reflected that under certain other conditions of life, meaning
conditions more favorable to Luther Larkin, I might have regarded him
very tenderly, and invested the strength and beauty of his young manhood
with heroic meaning.

As it was, I assumed that I was years beyond him in the gravest respects.
And if there was any truth in what Madeline had intimated, possibly I had
been at fault for not impressing this fact more deeply on his mind.

"So you are getting sadly behindhand with your lessons, Luther," I said.
"I wish you would make a brave effort to catch up. There is no true
attainment to be reached without a corresponding degree of effort--of
perseverance."

I spoke with a serious and gracious air, as though this sentiment,
gleaned from a profound experience, had occurred to me as an idea
peculiarly my own.

"Never mind the lessons!" replied my audacious pupil, brightly.
"Teacher," he added presently, having fallen into a gently musing
attitude; "how shiny those crimples in your hair look, with that streak
of sun lighting on 'em!"

"Luther," said I, very gravely: "you ought not to talk to me about my
hair. Suppose we give our attention to these books. Now you were getting
along so fast, I'm very sorry----"

"Do you think I'm to blame, teacher?" exclaimed Luther, earnestly, "There
wasn't a stick of wood to be had in our house this morning! And I've had
to be off, all day, chopping, with Scudder--you ought to have seen the
black snake we killed this morning. It was six feet long. If you don't
believe it, Scudder's got the carcass. It was lying all curled up in the
bushes with its head up so--'you watch him, Lute,' says Scudder, 'and
I'll run and get the axe!