to find
it. Each box contained one particular set of books. On the top of one of
the boxes he found a large strong blank folio, entitled--"Library
Catalogue."

Ishmael took this book and sat down at one of the tables and divided it
into twelve portions, writing over each portion the name of the subject
to which he proposed to devote it, as "Theology," "Physics,"
"Jurisprudence," etc. The last portion he headed "Miscellaneous." Next
he divided the empty shelves into similar compartments, and headed each
with thy corresponding names. Then he began to make a list of the books,
taking one set at a time, writing their names in their proper portion of
the catalogue and then arranging them in their proper compartment of the
library.

Ishmael had just got through with "Theology," and was about to begin to
arrange the next set of books in rotation, when he bethought himself to
look at the timepiece, and seeing that it was after twelve, he hurried
back to Woodside to keep his appointment with Reuben.

But he returned in the afternoon and recommenced work; and not only on
this day, but for several succeeding days, Ishmael toiled cheerfully at
this task. To arrange all these books in perfect order and neatness was
to Ishmael a labor of real love; and so when one Saturday afternoon he
had completed his task, it was with a feeling half of satisfaction at
the results of his labor, half of regret at leaving the scene of it,
that he locked up the library, returned the key to Aunt Katie, and took
leave of Tanglewood.

Walking home through the forest that evening Ishmael thought well over
his future prospects. He had read and mastered all those text-books of
law that he had found in the old escritoire of his bedroom; and now he
wanted more advanced books on the same subject. Such books he had seen
in the library at Tanglewood; and he had been sorely tempted to linger
as long as possible there for the sake of reading them: but honest and
true in thought and act, he resisted the temptation to appropriate the
use of the books, or the time that he felt was not his own.

On this evening, therefore, he meditated upon the means of obtaining the
books that he wanted. He was now about eighteen years of age, highly
gifted in physical beauty and in moral and intellectual excellence; but
he was still as poor as poverty could make him. He worked hard, much
harder than many who earned liberal salaries; but he earned nothing,
absolutely nothing, b