Mary Ogden had three dresses, one quite pretty, but none were of silk. Aunt Melinda was always telling Mary what she ought not to wear at her age, and with hair and eyes as dark as hers. Mary felt very proud, therefore, when she saw on the table in her room the parcel containing the black silk and trimmings.

"It must have been expensive," she said, and she unfolded it as if afraid it would break.

"What will mother say?" she thought. "And Aunt Melinda! I'm too young for it—I know I am!"

The whole Murdoch family arose early, and the editor, after looking at the black silk, said that he felt pretty well.

"So you ought," said his wife. "You had more new subscribers yesterday than you ever had before in your life in any one day."

"That makes me think," said Mr. Murdoch. "I owe Mary Ogden five dollars—there it is—for getting out that number of the Eagle."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Mary. "I did that, and Jack did it, only because—"

He put the bank-note into her hand.

"I'd rather you'd take it," he said. "You'll never be a good editor till you learn to work on a business basis."

As he insisted, she put the bill into her pocket-book, thanking him gratefully.

"I had two dollars when I came," she thought, "and I haven't spent a cent; but I may need something. Besides, I'll have to pay for making up my new dress."

But she was wrong. Mrs. Murdoch went out to see a neighbor after breakfast, and before noon it was certain that if seven old men of Mertonville had paid for the silk, at least seven elderly women could be found who were very willing to make it up.

About that time Jack was walking up to the door of the Senate Chamber, in the Capitol, at Albany, after having astonished himself by long walks and gazings through the halls and side passages.

"It's true enough," he said to himself. "The Governor's right. No fellow could go through this and come out just as he came in."

He understood about the "twenty tons of pure gold" in the building, but nevertheless he could not keep from looking all around after signs of it.

"There's plenty of gilding," he said, "but it's very thin. It's all finished, too. I don't see what more they could do, now the roof's on and it's all painted. He must have been joking when he said that."

Jack roamed all over the Capitol, for the Legislature was not in session, and the building was open to sight-seers. There were many of them, and from visitors, workmen, and some boys whom he met, Jack managed to find out many interesting things.

The Assembly Chamber seemed to him a truly wonderful room, and upon the floor were several groups of people admiring it.

He saw one visitor seat himself in the Speaker's chair. "There's room in that chair for two or three small men," said Jack; "I'll try it by and by."

So he did.

"The Speaker was a boy once, too, and so was the Governor," he said to himself aloud.

"Yes, my boy," said a lady, who was near enough to hear him; "so they were. So were all the presidents, and some went barefoot and lived in log-cabins."

"Well, I've often gone barefoot," said Jack, laughing.

"Many boys go barefoot, but they can't all become governors," she said, pleasantly.

She looked at Jack for a moment, and then said with a smile, "You look like a bright young man, though. Do you suppose you could ever be Governor?"

"Perhaps I could," he said. "It can't be harder to learn than any other business."

The lady laughed, and her friends laughed, and Jack arose from the Speaker's chair and walked away.

He had seen enough of that vast State House. It wearied him, there was so much of it, and it was so fine.

"To build this house cost twenty tons of gold!" he said, as he went out through the lofty doorway. "I wish I had some of it. I've kept my nine dollars yet, anyway. The Governor's right. I don't know what he meant, but I'll never be just the same fellow again."

It was so. But it was not merely seeing the Capitol that had changed him. He was changing from a boy who had never seen anything outside of Crofield and Mertonville, into a boy who was walking right out into the world to learn what is in it.

"I'll go to the hotel and write to father and mother," he said; "and I have something to tell them."

It was the first real letter he had ever written, and it seemed a great thing to do—ten times more important than writing a composition, and almost equal to editing the Eagle.

"I'll just put in everything," he thought, "just as it came along, and they'll know what I've been doing."

It took a long time to write the letter, but it was done at last, and when he put down his pen he exclaimed:

"Hard work always makes me hungry! I wonder if it isn't dinner-time? They said it was always dinner-time here after twelve o'clock. I'll go see." It was long after twelve when he went down to the office to stamp and mail his letter.

"Mr. Ogden," said the clerk, giving Jack an envelope, "here's a note from Mr. Magruder. He left—"

"Ogden," said a deep, full voice just behind him, "didn't you stay there too long? I am told you sat in the Speaker's chair."

Jack wheeled about, blushing crimson. The Governor was not standing still, but was walking steadily through the office, surrounded by a group of dignified men. It was necessary to walk with them in order to reply to the question, and Jack did so.

"I sat there half a minute," he answered. "I hope it didn't hurt me."

"I'm glad you got out so soon, Jack," replied the Governor approvingly.

"But I heard also that you think of learning the Governor business," went on the great man. "Now, don't you do it. It is not large pay, and you'd be out of work most of the time. Be a blacksmith, or a carpenter, or a tailor, or a printer."

"Well, Governor," said Jack, "I was brought up a blacksmith; and I've worked at carpentering, and printing too; and I've edited a newspaper; but—"

There he was cut short by the laughter from those dignified men.<............