ou please, sir."

"Latin! Then you're following your brother's steps? I am glad
of it! It does me good to see boys studying Latin. That's
right. Latin. And Algebra, perhaps."

"Yes sir."

"I'll put you into Algebra, as soon as you like."

"I shall want books, I suppose, sir. Can I get them here?"

"No; you can't get 'em, I'm afraid, this side of Deerford."

"Deerford?"

"That's six miles off, or so."

"I can't walk there to-night," said Winthrop; "but I'll go to-
morrow."

"Walk there to-night! no, -- but we'll see. I think you've got
the stuff in you. To-night! -- Maybe we can find some old books
that will do to begin with; and you can walk over there some
waste afternoon. How far have you come to-day?"

"About thirteen miles, sir, from home."

"On foot?"

"Yes sir."

"And you want half a dozen more to-night?"

"No sir," said Winthrop, smiling, -- "not if I might choose."

"You'll find a day. Your father spoke to me about your
lodgings. You can lodge here, where I do; only twelve
shillings a week. I'll speak to Mrs. Nelson about it; and you
can just make yourself at home. I'm very glad to see you."

'Make himself at home'! Winthrop's heart gave an emphatic
answer, as he drew up a chair the opposite side of the
fireplace. Make himself at home. That might only be done by a
swift transport of thirteen miles. He could not do it, if he
would. Would he, if he could? Nay, he had set his face up the
mountain of learning, and not all the luring voices that might
sound behind and beside him could tempt him to turn back. He
must have the Golden Water that was at the top.

It was necessary to stuff cotton into his ears. Fancy had
obstinately a mind to bring his mother's gentle tread about
him, and to ring the sweet tones of home, and to shew him
pictures of the summer light on the hills, and of the little
snow-spread valley of winter. Nay, by the side of that cold
fireplace, with Mr. Glanbally at one corner and himself at the
other, she set the bright hearth of home, girdled with warm
hearts and hands; a sad break in them now for his being away.
Mr. Glanbally had returned to his book and was turning over
the leaves of it with his nose; and Winthrop was left alone to
his contemplations. How alone the turning over of those leaves
did make him feel. If Mr. Glanbally would have held up his
head and used his fingers, like a Christian man, it would not
have been so dreary; but that nose said emphatically, "You