Many years ago, a boy of sixteen sat in a little room in an old farm-house up among the Connecticut[48] hills, writing busily in a book made of odd bits of paper stitched together, with a cover formed of two thin boards. The lid of a blue chest was his desk, the end of a tallow candle stuck into a potato was his lamp, a mixture of soot¹ and vinegar his ink, and a quill² from the gray goose his pen. A "Webster's Spelling-book," "Dilworth's New Guide to the English Tongue," "Daboll's Arithmetic," and the "American Preceptor," stood on the chimney-piece over his head, with the "Assembly Catechism," and New Testament³, in the place of honor. This was his library; and now and then a borrowed "Pilgrim's Progress," "Fox's Book of Martyrs," or some stray volume, gladdened his heart; for he passionately⁴ loved books, and scoured⁵ the neighborhood for miles around to feed this steadily⁶ increasing hunger. Every penny he could earn or save went to buy a song or a story from the peddlers who occasionally climbed the hill to the solitary⁸ farm-house. When others took a noon-spell, he read under the trees or by the fire. He carried a book in his pocket, and studied as he went with the cows to and from the pasture, and sat late in his little room, ciphering on an old slate⁹, or puzzling his young brain over some question which no one could answer for him.  
His father had no patience with him, called him a shiftless dreamer, and threatened to burn the beloved books. But his mother defended him, for he was her youngest and the pride of her heart; so she let him scribble¹¹ all over her floors before she scrubbed them up, dipped extra thick candles for his use, saved every scrap¹³ of paper to swell¹⁴ his little store, and firmly[49] believed that he would turn out the great man of the family. His brothers joked about his queer ways, but in his sisters he found firm friends and tender comforters for all his woes¹⁵. So he struggled along, working on the farm in summer and in a clock shop during the winter, with such brief spells of schooling¹⁷ as he could get between whiles, improving even these poor opportunities so well that he was letter-writer for all the young people in the neighborhood.
 
Now, he was writing in his journal very slowly, but very well, shaping his letters with unusual grace and freedom; for the wide snow-banks were his copy-books in winter, and on their white pages he had learned to sweep splendid capitals or link syllables¹⁸ handsomely together. This is what he wrote that night, with a sparkle in the blue eyes and a firm folding of the lips that made the boyish face resolute¹⁹ and manly²⁰.
 
"I am set in my own mind that I get learning. I see not how, but my will is strong, and mother hopes for to make a scholar of me. So, please God, we shall do it."
 
Then he shut the little book and put it carefully away in the blue chest, with pen and ink, as if they were very precious things; piously²² said his prayers, and was soon asleep under the homespun coverlet, dreaming splendid dreams, while a great bright star looked in at the low window, as if waiting to show him the road to fortune.
 
And God did please to help the patient lad; only the next evening came an opportunity he had never imagined. As he sat playing "Over the Hills and Far[50] Away" on the fiddle²⁴ that he had himself made out of maple-wood, with a bow strung from the tail of the old farm horse, a neighbor came in to talk over the fall pork and cider, and tell the news.
 
"Ef you want ter go over the hills and far away, Eli, here's the chance. I see a man down to Woodtick who was askin' ef I knew any likely young chap who'd like to git 'scribers for a pious²¹ book he wants to sell. He'd pay for the job when the names is got and the books give out. That's ruther in your line, boy, so I calk'lated your daddy would spare you, as you ain't much of a hand at shuckin' corn nor cartin' pummace."
 
"Haw! haw!" laughed the big brothers, Ambrose Vitruvius and Junius Solomon, as neighbor Terry spoke²⁵ with a sly twinkle in his eye.
 
But the sisters, Miranda and Pamela, smiled for joy, while the good mother stopped her busy wheel to listen eagerly. Eli laid down his fiddle and came to the hearth²⁶ where the others sat, with such a wide-awake expression on his usually thoughtful face that it was plain that he liked the idea.
 
"I'll do it, if father'll let me," he said, looking wistfully at the industrious²⁷ man, who was shaving axe-handles for the winter wood-chopping, after his day's work was over.
 
"Wal, I can spare you for a week, mebby. It's not time for the clock shop yet, and sence you've heerd o' this, you won't do your chores right, so you may as wal see what you can make of peddlin'."
 
"Thank you, sir; I'll give you all I get, to pay for my time," began Eli, glowing with pleasure at the[51] prospect²⁸ of seeing a little of the world; for one of his most cherished dreams was to cross the blue hills that hemmed²⁹ him in, and find what lay beyond.
 
"Guess I can afford to give you all you'll make this trip," answered his father, in a tone that made the brothers laugh again.
 
"Boys, don't pester³⁰ Eli. Every one hasn't a call to farmin', and it's wal to foller the leadin's of Providence³¹ when they come along," said the mother, stroking the smooth, brown head at her knee; for Eli always went to her footstool with his sorrows and his joys.
 
So it was settled, and next day the boy, in his home-spun²³ and home-made Sunday best, set off to see his employer and secure the job. He got it, and for three days trudged³² up and down the steep roads, calling at every house with a sample of his book, the Rev³³. John Flavel's treatise³⁴ on "Keeping the Heart." Eli's winning face, modest manner, and earnest voice served him well, and he got many names; for books were scarce in those days, and a pious work was a treasure to many a good soul who found it difficult to keep the heart strong and cheerful in troublous times.
 
Then the books were to be delivered, and, anxious to save his small earnings³⁵, Eli hired no horse to transport his load, but borrowed a stout³⁶, green shawl from his mother, and, with his pack on his back, marched bravely away to finish his task. His wages were spent in a new prayer-book for his mother, smart handkerchief-pins for the faithful sisters, and a good store of paper for himself.
 
This trip was so successful that he was seized with[52] a strong desire to try a more ambitious and extended one; for these glimpses of the world showed him how much he had to learn, and how pleasantly he could pick up knowledge in these flights.
 
"What be you a-brewdin' over now, boy? Gettin' ready for the clock shop? It's 'most time for winter work, and Terry says you do pretty wal at puttin' together," said the farmer, a day or two after the boy's return, as they sat at dinner, all helping³⁷ themselves from the large pewter platter heaped with pork and vegetables.
 
"I was wishin' I could go South with Gad³⁸ Upson. He's been twice with clocks and notions, and wants a mate. Hoadley fits him out and pays him a good share if he does well. Couldn't I go along? I hate that old shop, and I know I can do something better than put together the insides of cheap clocks."
 
Eli spoke eagerly, and gave his mother an imploring³⁹ look which brought her to second the motion at once, her consent having been already won.
 
The brothers stared as if Eli had proposed to go up in a balloon, for to them the South seemed farther off than Africa does nowadays. The father had evidently been secretly prepared, for he showed no surprise, and merely paused a moment to look at his ambitious son with a glance in which amusement and reproach were mingled⁴⁰.
 
"When a hen finds she's hatched a duck's egg, it's no use for her to cackle; that ducklin' will take to the water in spite on her, and paddle off, nobody knows where. Go ahead, boy, and when you get enough of[53] junketin' 'round the world, come home and fall to work."
 
"Then I may go?" cried Eli, upsetting his mug of cider in his excitement.
 
His father nodded, being too busy eating cabbage with a wide-bladed green-handled knife to speak just then. Eli, red and speechless with delight and gratitude⁴¹, could only sit and beam at his family till a sob⁴² drew his attention to sister Pamela, whose pet he was.
 
"Don't, Pam, don't! I'll come back all right, and bring you news and all the pretty things I can. I must go; I feel as if I couldn't breathe, shut up here winters. I s'pose it's wicked, but I can't help it," whispered Eli, with his arm around his buxom⁴³ eighteen-year old sister, who laid her head on his shoulder and held him tight.
 
"Daughter, it's sinful to repine at the ways of Providence. I see a leadin' plain in this, and ef I can be chirk when my dear boy is goin', 'pears to me you ought to keep a taut⁴⁴ rein⁴⁵ on your feelin's, and not spile his pleasure."
 
The good mother's eyes were full of tears as she spoke, but she caught up the end of her short gown and wiped them quickly away to smile on Eli, who thanked her with a loving look.
 
"It's so lonesome when he's not here. What will we do evenings without the fiddle, or Eli to read a piece in some of his books while we spin?" said poor Pam, ashamed of her grief, yet glad to hide her tears by affecting to settle the long wooden bodkin that held up her coils of brown hair.
 
"Obed Finch⁴⁶ will be comin' along, I guess likely,[54] and he'll read to you out uv Eli's book about keepin' the heart, and you'll find your'n gone 'fore¹² you know it," said Junius Solomon, in a tone that made pretty Pam blush and run away, while the rest laughed at her confusion.
 
So it was settled, and when all was ready, the boy came home to show his equipment before he started. A very modest outfit⁴⁷,—only two tin trunks slung⁴⁸ across the shoulders, filled with jewelry⁴⁹, combs, lace, essences, and small wares⁵⁰.
 
"I hate to have ye go, son, but it's better than to be mopin' to hum, gettin' desperut for books and rilin' father. We'll all be workin' for ye, so be chipper and do wal. Keep steddy, and don't disgrace your folks. The Lord bless ye, my dear boy, and hold ye in the holler of his hand!"
 
Her own rough hand was on his head as his mother spoke, with wet eyes, and the tall lad kissed her tenderly, whispering, with a choke in his throat:—
 
"Good-by, mammy dear; I'll remember."
 
Then he tramped away to join his mate, turning now and then to nod and smile and show a ruddy face full of happiness, while the family watched him out of sight with mingled hopes and doubts and fears.
 
Mails were slow in those days, but at length a letter came; and here it is,—a true copy of one written by a boy in 1820:—
 
Norfolk, Va., December 4th.
"Honored Parents: I write to inform you I am safe here and to work. Our business is profitable, and I am fast learning the Quirks⁵¹ and Turns of trade. We are going to the eastern shore of Va., calculating to be gone six weeks. The inhabitants are sociable⁵² and hospitable⁵³, and you need not fear I shall suffer, for I find many almost fathers and mothers among these good folks.
 
"Taking our trunks, we travel through the country, entering the houses of the rich and poor, offering our goods, and earning our wages by the sweat of our brows. How do you think we look? Like two Awkward, Homespun, Tugging⁵⁴ Yankee peddlers? No, that is not the case. By people of breeding we are treated with politeness and gentility, and the low and vulgar we do not seek. For my part, I enjoy travelling more than I expected. Conversation with new folks, observing manners and customs, and seeing the world, does me great good.
 
"I never met a real gentleman till I came here. Their hospitality allows me to see and copy their fine ways of acting⁵⁵ and speaking, and they put the most Bashful at ease. Gad likes the maids and stays in the kitchen most times. I get into the libraries and read when we put up nights, and the ladies are most kind to me everywhere.
 
"I'm so tall they can't believe I'm only sixteen. They aren't as pretty as our rosy-faced girls, but their ways are elegant, and so are their clothes, tell Pam.
 
"When I think how kind you were to let me come, I am full of gratitude. I made some verses, one day, as I waited in a hovel for the rain to hold up.
 
"To conduce to my own and parents' good,
Was why I left my home;
To make their cares and burdens less,
And try to help them some.
'Twas my own choice to earn them cash,
And get them free from debt;
Before that I am twenty-one
It shall be done, I bet.
My parents they have done for me
What I for them can never do,
So if I serve them all I may,
Sure God will help me through.
My chief delight, therefore, shall be
To earn them all I can,
Not only now, but when that I
At last am my own man.
"These are the genuine Sentiments of your son, who returns thanks for the many favors you have heaped upon him, and hopes to repay you by his best Endeavors. Accept this letter and the inclosed small sum as a token of his love and respect.
 
"Your dutiful son,
"Tell the girls to write.
 
Eli."
In reply to this, came a letter from the anxious mother, which shows not only the tender, pious nature of the good woman, but also how much need of education the boy had, and how well he was doing for himself:—
 
"Affectionate Son: We was very glad to receave your letter. I feal very anctious about you this winter, and how you are a doing. You cannot know a mother's concern for her boy wen he is fur away. Do not git into bad habbits. Take the Bible for your rule and guide to vartue. I pray for your prosperity in all spiritall and temporrall things, and leave you in the care of Him who gave you breath and will keep you safe.
 
"We are all well, and your father enjoys his helth better than last year. I visited Uncle Medad a spell last week. I am provided with a horse and shay to ride to meatin. Mr. Eben Welton took our cow and give us his old horse. Captain Stephen Harrington was excommunicated last Sabbath. Pamely goes away to learn dressmakin soon. I mistrust Mirandy will take up with Pennel Haskell; he is likely, and comes frequent. I wish you had been here a Christmas. We had a large company to dinner, and I got some wheat flower and made a fine chicken pye. Eli, I hope you attend meatin when you can. Do not trifle away the holy day in vane pleasures, but live to the glory of God, and in the fear of your parents. Father sold the white colt. He was too spirity, and upsat Ambrose and nigh broke his head. His nose is still black. Dear son: I miss you every time I set a platter in your place. Is your close warm and suffitient? Put your stockin round your throat if sore. Do you git good cyder to drink? Take the Pennyryal if you feal wimbly after a long spell of travil. The girls send love. No more now. Wright soon.
 
Your mother,       Hannah Gardener."
"P. S.—Liddy Finch is married. Our pigs give us nine hunderd pound of prime pork."
 
Many such letters went to and fro that winter, and Eli faithfully reported all his adventures. For he had many, and once or twice was in danger of losing his life.
 
On one occasion, having parted from his mate for a day or two, wishing to try his luck alone, our young peddler found himself, late in the afternoon, approaching the Dismal⁵⁷ Swamp. A tempest arose, adding to the loneliness and terror of the hour. The cypresses⁵⁸ uprooted⁵⁹ by the blast fell now and then across the road, endangering the poor boy's head. A sluggish⁶⁰ stream rolled through tangled⁶¹ junipers and beds of reeds, and the fen¹⁰ on either side was full of ugly creatures, lizards⁶², snakes, and toads⁶³; while owls⁶⁴, scared by the storm, flew wildly about and hooted⁶⁵ dismally⁶⁶. Just at the height of the tumult⁶⁷, Eli saw three men coming toward him, and gladly hastened to meet them, hoping to have their company or learn of them where he could find a shelter. But their bad faces daunted⁶⁸ him, and he would have hurried by without speaking if they had not stopped him, roughly demanding his name and business.
 
The tall stripling was brave, but his youthful face showed him to be but a boy, and the consciousness of a well-filled purse in his pocket made him anxious to escape. So he answered briefly⁶⁹, and tried to go on. But two men held him, in spite of his struggles, while the third rifled his pockets, broke open his trunks, and took all that was of any value in the way of watches and jewelry. Then they left him, with a cruel joke about a good journey, and made off with their booty. It was the first time poor Eli had met with such a mishap⁷⁰, and as he stood in the rain looking at his wares scattered⁷¹ about the road, he felt inclined to throw himself into the creek⁷², and forget his woes there among the frogs and snakes. But he had a stout heart, and soon decided⁷³ to make the best of it, since nothing could be done to mend the matter. Gathering⁷⁴ up his bedraggled laces, scattered scent-bottles, and dirty buttons, pins, and needles, he trudged sadly on, feeling that for him this was indeed a Dismal Swamp.
 
"I told you we'd better stick together, but you wanted to be so dre'dful smart, and go travellin' off alone in them out'n the way places. Might 'a' known you'd get overhauled⁷⁶ somers. I always did think you was a gump, Eli, and now I'm sure on't," was all the comfort Gad gave him when they met, and the direful tale was told.
 
"What shall I do now?" asked the poor lad. "My notions aren't worth selling, and my money's gone. I'll have to pay Hoadley somehow."
 
"You'd better foot it home and go to choppin' punkins for the cows, or help your marm spin. I vow⁷⁷ I never did see such a chap for gettin' into a mess," scolded Gad, who was a true Yankee, and made a successful trader, even in a small way.
 
"We'll sleep on it," said Eli, gently, and went to bed very low in his mind.
 
Perhaps a few tears wet his pillow as he lay awake, and the prayers his mother taught him were whispered in the silence of the night; for hope revived, comfort came, and in the morning his serene⁷⁸ face and sensible plan proved to his irate⁷⁹ friend that the "gump" had a wise head and a manly heart, after all.
 
"Gad, it is just the time for the new almanacs, and Allen wants men to sell 'em. I thought it was small business before, but beggars mustn't be choosers, so I'm going right off to offer for the job 'round here. It will do for a start, and if I'm smart, Allen will give me a better chance maybe."
 
"That's a fust-rate plan. Go ahead, and I'll say a good word for you. Allen knows me, and books is in your line, so I guess you'll do wal if you keep out'n the mashes," answered Gad, with great good will, having slept off his vexation.
 
The plan did go well, and for weeks the rosy-faced, gentle-voiced youth might have been seen mildly offering the new almanacs at doors and shops, and at street corners, with a wistful look in his blue eyes, and a courtesy of manner that attracted many customers and earned many a dollar. Several mates, envying his fine handwriting and pitying his hard luck, took lessons in penmanship of him and paid him fairly, whereat he rejoiced over the hours spent at home, flat on the kitchen floor, or flourishing splendid capitals on the snow-banks, when his nose was blue with cold and his hands half-frozen.
 
When the season for the yellow-covered almanacs was over, Eli, having won the confidence of his employer, was fitted out with more notions, and again set forth⁸⁰ on his travels, armed, this time, and in company with his townsman. He prospered⁸¹ well, and all winter trudged to and fro, seemingly a common peddler, but really a student, making the world his book, and bent⁸² on learning all he could. Travel taught him geography and history, for he soon knew every corner of Virginia; looked longingly⁸⁴ at the ancient walls of William and Mary College, where Jefferson and Monroe studied; where young George Washington received his surveyor's commission, and in his later years served as Chancellor⁸⁵. In Yorktown, he heard all about the siege of 1781; saw Lord Cornwallis's lodgings⁸⁶ and the cave named for him; met pleasant people, whose fine speech and manners he carefully copied; read excellent books wherever he could find them, and observed, remembered, and stored away all that he saw, heard, and learned, to help and adorn⁸⁷ his later life.
 
By spring he set out for home, having slowly saved enough to repay Hoadley for the lost goods. But as if Providence meant to teach him another lesson, and make him still more prudent⁸⁸, humble⁸⁹, and manly, a sad adventure befell him on his way.
 
While waiting for the coaster that was to take them home, he one day went in swimming with Gad; for this was one of the favorite pastimes of the Connecticut boys, who on Saturday nights congregated⁹⁰ by the score at a pond called Benson's Pot, and leaped from the spring-board like circus tumblers, turning somersaults into the deep water below.
 
It was too early for such sport now; the water was very cold, and poor Gad, taken with cramp⁹¹, nearly drowned Eli by clinging to his legs as he went down. Freeing himself with difficulty, Eli tried to save his friend; but the current swept the helpless man away, and he was lost. Hurriedly dressing⁹², Eli ran for aid, but found himself regarded with suspicion by those to whom he told his story; for he was a stranger in the place and certain peddlers who had gone before had left a bad name behind them.
 
To his horror, he was arrested, accused of murder, and would have been tried for his life, if Mr. Allen of Norfolk had not come to testify to his good character, and set him free. Poor Gad's body was found and buried, and after a month's delay, Eli set out again, alone, heavy-hearted, and very poor, for all his own little savings⁹³ had been consumed by various expenses. Mr. Hoadley's money was untouched, but not increased, as he hoped to have it; and rather than borrow a penny of it, Eli landed barefooted. His boots were so old he threw them overboard, and spent his last dollar for a cheap pair of shoes to wear when he appeared at home, for they were not stout enough to stand travel. So, like Franklin with his rolls, the lad ate crackers⁹⁴ and cheese as he trudged through the city, and set out for the far-away farm-house among the hills.
 
A long journey, but a pleasant one, in spite of his troubles; for spring made the world lovely, habit made walking no hardship, and all he had seen in his wanderings passed before him at will, like a panorama⁹⁵ full of color and variety.
 
Letters had gone before, but it was a sad homecoming, and when all was told, Eli said:—
 
"Now, father, I'll go to work. I've had my wish and enjoyed it a sight; and would go again, but I feel as if I ought to work, as long as I can't pay for my time."
 
"That's hearty⁹⁶, son, and I'm obleeged to ye. Hear what mother's got to say, and then do whichever you prefer," answered the farmer, with a nod toward his wife, who, with the girls, seemed full of some pleasant news which they longed to tell.
 
"I've sold all the cloth we made last winter for a good sum, and father says you may hev the spendin' on't. It will be enough to pay your board down to Uncle Tillotson's while you study with him, so 's 't you kin¹⁶ be gettin' ready for college next year. I've sot my heart on't, and you musn't disapp'int me and the girls," said the good woman, with a face full of faith and pride in her boy, in spite of all mishaps⁹⁷.
 
"Oh, mammy, how good you be! It don't seem as if I ought to take it. But I do want to go!" cried Eli, catching⁹⁸ her round the neck in an ecstasy⁹⁹ of boyish delight and gratitude.
 
Here Miranda and Pamela appeared, bringing their homely¹⁰⁰ gifts of warm hose, and new shirts made from wool and flax grown by the father, and spun and woven by the accomplished¹⁰¹ housewife.
 
A very happy youth was Eli when he again set off to the city, with his humble outfit and slender purse, though father still looked doubtful, and the brothers were more sure than ever that Eli was a fool to prefer dry books to country work and fun.
 
A busy year followed, Eli studying, as never boy studied before, with the excellent minister, who soon grew proud of his best pupil. Less preparation was needed in those days, and perhaps more love and industry went to the work; for necessity is a stern master, and poor boys often work wonders if the spark of greatness is there.
 
Eli had his wish in time, and went to college, mother and sisters making it possible by the sale of their handiwork; for the girls were famous spinners, and the mother the best weaver¹⁰² in the country around. How willingly they toiled¹⁰³ for Eli!—rising early and sitting late, cheering their labor¹⁰⁴ with loving talk of the dear lad's progress, and an unfailing faith in his future success. Many a long ride did that good mother take to the city, miles away, with a great roll of cloth on the pillion behind her to sell, that she might pay her son's college bills. Many a coveted¹⁰⁵ pleasure did the faithful sisters give up that they might keep Eli well clothed, or send him some country dainty to cheer the studies which seemed to them painfully hard and mysteriously precious. Father began to take pride in the ugly duckling now, and brothers to brag¹⁰⁶ of his great learning. Neighbors came in to hear his letters, and when vacation brought him home, the lads and lasses regarded him with a certain awe¹⁰⁷; for his manners were better, his language purer, than theirs, and the new life he led refined the country boy till he seemed a gentleman.
 
The second year he yielded to temptation, and got into debt. Being anxious to do credit to his family, of whom he was secretly a little ashamed about this time, he spent money on his clothes, conscious that he was a comely¹⁰⁸ youth with a great love of beauty, and a longing⁸³ for all that cultivates and embellishes¹⁰⁹ character and life. An elegant gentleman astonished the hill folk that season, by appearing at the little church in a suit such as the greatest rustic¹¹⁰ dandy never imagined in his wildest dreams,—the tall white hat with rolling brim, Marseilles vest with watch-chain and seals festooned across it, the fine blue coat with its brass¹¹¹ buttons, and the nankeen trousers strapped¹¹² over boots so tight that it was torture to walk in them. Armed with a cane¹¹³ in the well-gloved hand, an imposing¹¹⁴ brooch in the frills of the linen¹¹⁵ shirt, Eli sauntered across the green, the observed of all observers, proudly hoping that the blue eyes of a certain sweet Lucinda were fixed¹¹⁶ admiringly upon him.
 
The boys were the first to recover from the shock, and promptly¹¹⁷ resented the transformation¹¹⁸ of their former butt⁷⁵ into a city beau, by jeering¹¹⁹ openly and affecting great scorn of the envied splendor¹²⁰. The poor jackdaw, somewhat abashed¹²¹ at the effect of his plumes¹²², tried to prove that he felt no superiority, by being very affable, which won the lasses, but failed to soften¹²³ the hearts of the boys; and when he secured the belle¹²⁴ of the village for the Thanksgiving drive and dance, the young men resolved that pride should have a fall.
 
Arrayed in all his finery, Eli drove pretty Lucinda in a smart borrowed wagon¹²⁵ to the tavern¹²⁶ where the dance was held. Full of the airs and graces he had learned at college, the once bashful, awkward Eli was the admired of all eyes, as he pranced¹²⁷ down the long contra-dance in the agonizing¹²⁸ boots, or played "threading the needle" without the least reluctance¹²⁹ on the part of the blushing girls to pay the fine of a kiss when the players sung the old rhyme:—
 
"The needle's eye no one can pass;
The thread that runs so true—
It has caught many a pretty lass,
And now it has caught you."
But his glory was short-lived; for some enemy maliciously¹³⁰ drew out the linchpin from the smart wagon, and as they were gayly driving homeward over the hills, the downfall came, and out they both went, to the great damage of Eli's city suit, and poor Lucinda's simple finery.
 
Fortunately, no bones were broken, and picking themselves up, they sadly footed it home, hoping the mishap would remain unknown. But the rogues¹³¹ took care that Eli should not escape, and the whole neighborhood laughed over the joke; for the fine hat was ruined, and the costly¹³² coat split down the back, in the ignominious¹³³ tumble.
 
Great was the humiliation¹³⁴ of the poor student; for not only was he ridiculed¹³⁵, but Lucinda would not forgive him, and the blue eyes smiled upon another; worst of all, he had to confess his debts and borrow money of his father to pay them. He meekly¹³⁶ bore the stern rebuke¹³⁷ that came with the hard-earned dollars, but the sight of the tears his mother shed, even while she comforted him, filled him with remorse¹³⁸. He went back to his books, in a homespun suit, a sadder and a wiser boy, and fell to work as if resolved to wash out past errors and regain¹³⁹ the confidence he had lost.
 
All that winter the wheels turned and the loom¹⁴⁰ jangled, that the rolls of cloth might be increased; and never was the day too cold, the way too long, for the good mother's pious pilgrimage.
 
That summer, a man came home to them, shabby enough as to his clothes, but so wonderfully improved in other ways, that not only did the women folk glow with tender pride, but father and brothers looked at him with respect, and owned at last there was something in Eli. "No vacation for me," he said; "I must work to pay my debts; and as I am not of much use here, I'll try my old plan, and peddle⁷ some money into my empty pockets."
 
It was both comic and pathetic to see the shoulders that had worn the fine broadcloth burdened with a yoke¹⁴¹, the hands that had worn kid gloves grasping the tin trunks, and the dapper feet trudging¹⁴² through dust and dew in cow-hide boots. But the face under the old straw hat was a manlier¹⁴³ one than that which the tall beaver¹⁴⁴ crowned, and the heart under the rough vest was far happier than when the gold chain glittered above it. He did so well that when he returned to college his debts were paid, and the family faith in Eli restored.
 
That was an eventful year; for one brother married, and one went off to seek his fortune, the father mortgaging his farm to give these sons a fair start in life. Eli was to be a minister, and the farmer left his fortunes in the hands of his wife, who, like many another good mother, was the making of the great man of the family, and was content with that knowledge, leaving him the glory.
 
The next year, Eli graduated with honor, and went home, to be received with great rejoicing, just twenty-one, and a free man. He had longed for this time, and planned a happy, studious life, preparing to preach the gospel in a little parsonage of his own. But suddenly all was changed; joy turned to sorrow, hope to doubt, and Eli was called to relinquish¹⁴⁵ liberty for duty,—to give up his own dreams of a home, to keep a roof over the heads of the dear mother and the faithful sisters. His father died suddenly, leaving very little for the women folk besides the independence that lay in the skill of their own thrifty¹⁴⁶ hands. The elder brothers could not offer much help, and Eli was the one to whom the poor souls turned in their hour of sorrow and anxiety.
 
"Go on, dear, and don't pester yourself about us. We can find food and firin' here as long as the old farm is ours. I guess we can manage to pay off the mortgage by-and-by. It don't seem as if I could turn out, after livin' here ever sense I was married, and poor father so fond on't."
 
The widow covered her face with her apron¹⁴⁷, and Eli put his arms about her, saying manfully, as he gave up all his fondest hopes for her dearer sake—
 
"Cheer up, mother, and trust to me. I should be a poor fellow if I allowed you and the girls to want, after all you've done for me. I can get a school, and earn instead of spend. Teaching and studying can go on together. I'm sure I shouldn't prosper⁵⁶ if I shirked my duty, and I won't." The three sad women clung to him, and the brothers, looking at his brave, bright face, felt that Eli was indeed a man to lean on and to love in times like this.
 
"Well," thought the young philosopher, "the Lord knows what is best for me, and perhaps this is a part of my education. I'll try to think so, and hope to get some good out of a hard job."
 
In this spirit he set about teaching, and prospered wonderfully, for his own great love of learning made it an easy and delightful¹⁴⁸ task to help others as he had longed to be helped. His innocent and tender nature made all children love him, and gave him a remarkable¹⁴⁹ power over them; so when the first hard months were past, and his efforts began to bear fruit, he found that what had seemed an affliction was a blessing¹⁵⁰, and that teaching was his special gift. Filial duty sweetened the task, a submissive heart found happiness in self-sacrifice, and a wise soul showed him what a noble and lovely work it was to minister to little children,—for of such is the kingdom of heaven.
 
For years Eli taught, and his school grew famous; for he copied the fashions of other countries, invented new methods, and gave himself so entirely¹⁵¹ to his profession that he could not fail of success. The mortgage was paid off, and Eli made frequent pilgrimages to the dear old mother, whose staff and comfort he still was. The sisters married well, the brothers prospered, and at thirty, the schoolmaster found a nobler mate than pretty Lucinda, and soon had some little pupils of his very own to love and teach.
 
There his youth ends; but after the years of teaching he began to preach at last, not in one pulpit, but in many all over the land, diffusing¹⁵² good thoughts now as he had peddled¹⁵³ small wares when a boy; still learning as he went, still loving books and studying mankind, still patient, pious, dutiful, and tender, a wise and beautiful old man, till, at eighty, Eli's education ended.