way in which they was sounded when read out loud, was
entirely ag'in reason. It was true, he said, that Beaumarchais, bein'
such a fool-name, might 'a' be'n invented a-purpose for a fool-family,
but he would n't hold even with callin' 'em Boomsher; Crambry was well
enough for 'em an' a sight easier to speak.

Stephen knew a good deal about the Crambrys, for he passed their
so-called habitation in going to one of his wood-lots. It was only
a month before that he had found them all sitting outside their
broken-down fence, surrounded by decrepit chairs, sofas, tables,
bedsteads, bits of carpet, and stoves.

"What's the matter?" he called out from his wagon.

"There ain't nothin' the matter," said Alcestis Crambry. "Father's
dead, an' we're dividin' up the furnerchure."

Alcestis was the pride of the Crambrys, and the list of his attainments
used often to be on his proud father's lips. It was he who was the
largest, "for his size," in the family; he who could tell his brothers
Paul and Arcadus "by their looks"; he who knew a sour apple from a sweet
one the minute he bit it; he who, at the early age of ten, was bright
enough to point to the cupboard and say, "Puddin', dad!"

Alcestis had enjoyed, in consequence of his unusual intellectual powers,
some educational privileges, and the Killick school-mistress well
remembered his first day at the village seat of learning. Reports of
what took place in this classic temple from day to day may have been
wafted to the dull ears of the boy, who was not thought ready for school
until he had attained the ripe age of twelve. It may even have been
that specific rumors of the signs, symbols, and hieroglyphics used
in educational institutions had reached him in the obscurity of his
cranberry meadows. At all events, when confronted by the alphabet chart,
whose huge black capitals were intended to capture the wandering eyes
of the infant class, Alcestis exhibited unusual, almost unnatural,
excitement. "That is 'A,' my boy," said the teacher genially, as she
pointed to the first character on the chart. "Good God, is that 'A'!"
cried Alcestis, sitting down heavily on the nearest bench. And neither
teacher nor scholars could discover whether he was agreeably surprised
or disappointed in the letter,--whether he had expected, if he ever
encountered it, to find it writhing in coils on the floor of a cage, or
whether it simply bore no resemblance to the ideal already established
in his mind.