ser, "but I shall feel
better when they are told. I know mother wonders what we are always
whispering about; and it does not seem right to hide any thing from
her. Here she is, and when we've got father's cider and the apples, I
shall tell them if you don't."

Poor James! it was evident that he had a cherished project at stake.
Never before had he been so long in drawing the cider. Mary had heaped
her basket with rosy-cheeked apples before he had finished; and when
at length he came from the cellar, his hand trembled, so that the
brown beverage was spilled upon the neat hearth.

"You are a little careless," said his mother; but the boy offered no
excuse; he cast an imploring glance at his sister, and walked to the
window, though the night was dark as Erebus, and the sleet struck
sharply against the glass.

"James and I want to talk with you a little while, father and mother,
if you can listen now," said Mary, boldly; and then there was a
pause--for she had dropped a whole row of stitches in her knitting,
and numberless were the loops which were left, as she took them up
again.

Her father looked at her with a stare of astonishment, or else he was
getting sleepy, and was obliged to open his eyes very widely, lest
they should close without his knowledge.

"Well, my child," said Mrs. Gordon, in a gentle tone of
encouragement--for she thought, from Mary's manner, that the
development of the confidential communications of the brother and
sister was at hand.

"We have been making a plan, mother--" but James could go no further,
and left the sentence unfinished. "Mary will tell you all," he added,
in a choking voice, as he turned once more to the window.

Mary did tell all, clearly, and without hesitation; while her mother's
pride, and her father's astonishment increased as the narrative
progressed. James, young as he was, had fixed his heart upon gaining a
classical education--a thing not so rare in the New England States as
with us, for there the false idea still prevails, that a man is unfit
to enter upon a profession until he has served the four years'
laborious apprenticeship imposed upon all "candidates for college
prizes." With us, the feeling has almost entirely passed away; a man
is not judged by the number of years he is supposed to have devoted to
the literature of past ages--the question is, what does he know? not,
how was that knowledge gained? But in the rigid and formal atmosphere
by which it was the f