was north in his chamber, and then
putting the compass itself in his pocket, he passed the ribbon round
his neck, and afterward went on taking the things out of his trunk.

When he came pretty near to the bottom of his trunk, he said to
himself,

"Ah! here it is."

At the same moment he took out a garment, which seemed to be a sort of
frock. It was made of brown linen. He laid it aside upon a chair, and
then began to put the things back into his trunk again. He laid them
all in very carefully, each in its own place. When all were in, he
shut down the lid of the trunk, locked it, and put the key in his
pocket. Then he took the frock from the chair, and opening it, put it
on.

It was made somewhat like a cartman's frock. Stuyvesant had had it
made by the seamstress at his mother's house, in New York, before he
came away. He was a very neat and tidy boy about his dress, and always
felt uncomfortable if his clothes were soiled or torn. He concluded,
therefore, that if he had a good, strong, serviceable frock to put on
over his other clothes, it would be very convenient for him at
Franconia.

As soon as his frock was on, he hastened down stairs and went out to
the barn in search of Beechnut. He found him yoking up the cattle.

"Why, Stuyvesant," said Beechnut, when he saw him, "that is a capital
frock that you have got. How much did it cost?"

"I don't know," said Stuyvesant; "Mary made it for me."

"Who is Mary?" asked Beechnut.

"She is the seamstress," said Stuyvesant. "She lives at our house in
New York."

"Do you have a seamstress there all the time?" said Beechnut.

"Yes," said Stuyvesant.

"And her name is Mary," said Beechnut.

"Yes," said Stuyvesant.

"Well, I wish she would take it into her head to make me such a frock
as that," said Beechnut.

During this conversation, Beechnut had been busily employed in yoking
up the oxen. Stuyvesant looked on, watching the operations carefully,
in order to see how the work of yoking up was done. He wished to see
whether the process was such that he could learn to yoke up oxen
himself; or whether any thing that was required was beyond his
strength.

"Can _boys_ yoke up cattle?" said Stuyvesant at length.

"It takes a pretty stout boy," said Beechnut.

"Could a boy as stout as I am do it?" asked Stuyvesant.

"It would be rather hard work for you," said Beechnut, "the yoke is
pretty heavy."

The yoke was indeed quite heavy, and it was necessary to lift