“I suppose you don’t know much about farming, Julius?” said Mr. Taylor, after supper.

“No more’n a horse,” said Julius.

“Some horses know considerable about farming, or at least have a chance to,” said his new guardian, with a smile.

“I guess they know more’n me.”

“Very likely; but you can learn.”

“Oh, yes,” said Julius, confidently. “It won’t take me long.”

“I shall put you in charge of Abner, who will give you some instruction. You will begin to-morrow morning with helping him to milk.”

“All right, sir.”

“He gets up at five o’clock. He will knock at your door, as he comes downstairs. He sleeps on the floor above. Now I want to ask a few questions about other matters. I suppose your education has been neglected.”

“I was to college once,” said our hero.

“How was that?”

“I carried a bundle of books from a bookseller in Nassau{99} Street to one of the purfessors of Columbia College.”

“If that is the extent of your educational advantages, you probably still have something to learn. Have you been to school?”

“Not much. I went to evenin’ school a few times.”

“Can you read and write?”

“I can read a little, but I have to skip the hard words. I ain’t much on writin’.”

“Here is a little book of fairy stories. You can read one aloud to Carrie.”

“I can’t read well enough,” said Julius, drawing back reluctantly.

“That is just what I want to find out,” said Mr. Taylor. “Don’t be bashful. If you can’t read well, you shall have a chance to improve.”

“Are you going to read me a story, Julius?” asked little Carrie, delighted.

“I’ll try,” said Julius, embarrassed.

He began to read, but it soon became evident that he had not exaggerated his ignorance. He hesitated and stumbled, miscalled easy words, and made very slow progress, so that Carrie, who had been listening attentively, without getting much idea of the story, said, discontentedly, “Why, how funny you read, Julius! I like better to hear papa read.”{100}

“I knew I couldn’t do it,” said Julius, disconcerted, as he laid down the book.

“You will soon be able to,” said Mr. Taylor, encouragingly. “Now I will tell you what I propose to do. In the forenoon, up to dinner time, you shall work on the farm, and in the afternoon I will assign you lessons to be recited in the evening. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” said Julius. “I don’t want to be a know-nothin’ when I get to be a man.”

It is hardly necessary to explain that in using the term “know-nothing” Julius had no thought of its political meaning.

“But I’m afraid I won’t learn very fast,” he said hesitatingly.

“Perhaps not just at first, but you will soon get used to studying. I will be your teacher; and when I am too busy to hear your lessons, Mrs. Taylor will supply my place. Are you willing, Emma?”

“Certainly, Ephraim; it will remind me of the years that I was teaching school.”

“Next winter I will send you to the public school,” said Mr. Taylor. “By that time you will, I hope, have learned so much that you will be able to get into a class of boys somewhere near your own age.”

“I shouldn’t like to be in a class with four-year-old babies,” said Julius. “They’d take me for a big baby myself.”{101}

“Your pride is natural and proper. Your grade in school will depend on how well you work between now and winter.”

“I’ll study some to-night,” said Julius, eagerly.

“Very well. The sooner you begin the better. You may take the same story you have been trying to read, and read it over three times carefully by yourself. When you come to any words you don’t know, you can ask Mrs. Taylor or myself. To-morrow evening you may read it aloud to Carrie, and we can see how much benefit you have derived from your study.”

Julius at once set to work in earnest. He had considerable perseverance, and really desired to learn. He was heartily ashamed of his ignorance, and this feeling stimulated him to make greater exertions.

The next morning he was awakened by a loud knock at his door.

“What’s up?” he muttered, drowsily.

“Get up, Julius,” Abner called, loudly.

Julius opened his eyes, and stared about him in momentary bewilderment.

“Blest if I didn’t forget where I was,” he said to himself. “I thought I was at the Lodgin’ House, and Mr. O’Connor was callin’ me. I’m comin’,” he said, aloud.

“You’ll find me at the barn,” said Abner.

“All right.”{102}

Julius hurried on his clothes, and proceeded to the barn, where he soon found Abner in the act of milking.

“Is it easy to milk?” he asked.

“It’s easy when you know how,” said Abner.

“It don’t look hard.”

“Come and try it,” said Abner.

He got off his stool, and Julius took his place. He began to pull, but not a drop of milk rewarded his efforts.

“There ain’t no milk left,” he said. “You’re foolin’ me.”

In reply Abner drew a full stream into the pail.

“I did just like you,” said Julius, puzzled.

“No, you didn’t. Let me show you.”

Here followed a practical lesson, which cannot very well be transferred to paper, even if the writer felt competent to give instructions in an art of which he has little knowledge.

Julius, though he had everything to learn, was quick in acquiring knowledge, whether practical or that drawn from books, and soon got the knack of milking, though it was some days before he could emulate Abner with his years of experience.

The next day Julius undertook to milk a cow alone. So well had he profited by Abner’s instructions, that he succeeded very well. But he was not yet experienced in the perverse ways of cows. When the pail was nearly{103} full, and he was congratulating himself on his success, the cow suddenly lifted her foot, and in an instant the pail was overturned, and all the milk was spilled, a portion of it on the milker.

Julius uttered an exclamation of mingled dismay and anger.

“What’s the matter?” asked Abner, rather amused at the expression on the face of Julius, notwithstanding the loss of the milk.

“Matter! The darned brute has knocked over the pail, and spilled all the milk.”

“Cows is curis critters,” said Abner, philosophically. “They like to make mischief sometimes.”

“Just let me get a stick. I’ll give her a dose,” said Julius, excited.

“No,” said Abner, “we’ll tie her legs if she does it again. It doesn’t do much good beating an animal. Besides,” he added, smiling, “I s’pose she thought she had a right to spill the milk, considerin’ it was hers.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Julius. “That’s the way she pays her board.”

“I s’pose she didn’t see it in that light. Better luck next time, Julius. It wa’n’t your fault anyway.”

The cow stood placidly during this conversation, evidently well pleased with her exploit. Julius would like to have given her a beating; but Abner, who was a kind-hearted man, would not allow it.{104}

“It would be a bully idea to make her go without her breakfast,” said Julius, whose anger was kept fresh by the sight of the spilled milk.

“Wal,” said Abner, “you see there’s this objection. If she don’t have no breakfast, she won’t give as much milk next time.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“She can’t make milk out of nothin’. Don’t you have no cows in New York?”

“Oh, yes,” said Julius, laughing; “the mayor has a whole drove of ’em, that he pastures in Central Park.”

“Does he get pasturin’ for nothin’?” asked Abner, in good faith.

“In course he does. Then there’s a lot of bulls in Wall Street.”

“Do they let ’em go round loose?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t they ever get rampagious?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t they do mischief?”

“I guess they do. They’re always fightin’ with the bears.”

“Sho! you don’t mean to say you’ve got bears in New York.”

“Yes, I do. They’re in Wall Street, too.”

“I shouldn’t think they’d allow it,” said Abner, whose knowledge of finance and the operators who make Wall{105} Street the theatre of their operations was very rudimentary.

“Oh, ain’t you jolly green!” said Julius, exploding with laughter.

“What do you mean?” demanded Abner, inclined to feel offended.

“The bulls and bears I am talkin’ of are men. They’re the brokers that do business in Wall Street.”

“How should I know that? What do they give ’em such curis names for?”

“I don’t know,” said Julius. “I never heard. Didn’t you ever go to New York?”

“No; but I should like to go. It costs a pile of money to go there, I expect. I wish you’d tell me something about it.”

“All right.”

Then and at other times Julius gave Abner a variety of information, not always wholly reliable, about New York and his former life there, to which Abner listened with greedy attention.{106}