out what he
is made of."

My mother was alone when she received this letter; she read it again and
again, and with each perusal her heart warmed toward the brother whom
she had not seen for so many years. "But," thought she, "whatever my own
wishes may be in the matter, Walter must decide for himself. I should
consult his feelings (as far as possible) upon a matter which concerns
him so deeply." When I came home that evening my mother gave me Uncle
Nathan's letter, and with silent amusement watched my face grow sober
as I read it. She really knew this kind-hearted brother--I did not,
and that made all the difference in the world. I suppose my grave
countenance, as I perused the letter, informed my mother that a second
Farmer Judson was rising before my mental vision. When I had finished,
I looked up, and, with an anxious voice, said:

"Tell me, mother, is Uncle Nathan as gruff and crusty as his letter?"

"My son," replied she, "your uncle's manner may seem somewhat short and
crusty to one not acquainted with him; but beneath this rough exterior,
he has a very kind heart. I am well aware that he makes this offer with
sincerity, and that he has your interest at heart. You certainly need
more education to fit you for the duties of life, and now a way is open
for you to obtain it. I can hardly bear the thought of your going so far
from home, and yet I need not expect you always to remain under my own
roof. It is my duty to submit to a temporary separation, if that
separation is for your own interest. I will not advise you too strongly,
for I consider you have a right to a voice in the matter as well as
myself. Should you decide to go, where my advice and influence cannot
reach you, I trust you will retain the good principles I have
endeavoured to inculcate; you are my only son and should you allow
yourself to be led into evil ways, it would be the heaviest trial I have
ever known, and my sorrows have been neither few nor light." I had such
full confidence in the opinions of my mother, that I allowed her to
write to uncle Nathan accepting, for me, his generous offer. Charley
Gray was entirely cast down when he learned that I was to go so far
away. "It's too bad," said he, "that they must send you away to an old
Uncle, who very likely is cross as a bear, and that before the holidays
are over; and then in the fall I'm to be sent off to school, nobody
knows where, so I suppose we may as well call our good times ended." As
C