lowly; they are content apparently to go without those
finer comprehensions and appreciations which other men covet; they are
content to be almost as inarticulate as their horses--honest beasts,
with few differences save temper and color of hide. Across the road from
the mill, but within sound and sight of its wheel, is Ellerby Library.
It is a small wooden building, elevated about five feet above the
ground, on four corner supports, like a table standing on four legs.
Daylight shines underneath; and Northern boys, accustomed to close
foundations, would be seized with temptations to run under and knock on
the floor: the mountain boys who come to the mill, however, are too well
acquainted with the peculiarities of the library to find amusement in
them; and, besides, this barefooted cavalry cherishes, under its
homespun jacket, an awkward respect for the librarian.

This librarian is Honor Dooris, and it is to her Stephen Wainwright now
presents his sheets of manuscript.

"You think I have an odd handwriting?" he said.

"Yes," answered the librarian; "I should not think you would be proud of
it."

"I am not."

"Then why not try to change it? I might lend you my old copies--those I
used myself and still use. Here they are." And she took from her desk a
number of small slips of paper, on which were written, in a round hand
with many flourishes and deeply-shaded lines, moral sentences, such as
"He that would thrive must rise at five"; "Never put off till to-morrow
what you can do to-day"; and others of like hilarious nature.

"Thanks," said Stephen; "I will take the copies, and try--to improve."

The librarian then began to look through the abstract, and Stephen did
not break the silence.

"Would it not be a good idea for me to read it aloud?" she said, after a
while. "I can always remember what I have read aloud."

"As you please," replied Stephen.

So the librarian began, in a sweet voice, with a strong Southern accent,
and read aloud, with frowning forehead and evidently but
half-comprehension, the chemical abstract which Stephen had prepared.

"It is very hard," she said, looking up at him, with a deep furrow
between her eyebrows.

"But not too hard for a person of determined mind."

The person of determined mind answered to the spur immediately, bent
forward over the desk again, and went on reading. Stephen, motionless,
sat with his eyes fixed on a spider's web high up in the window. When,
too deeply puz