“How many scholars have you, Mr. Barclay?” inquired Walter.

“About fifty.”

“Are they mostly boys?”

“There are about thirty boys--rather more than half.”

“How do they vary in age?”

“From ten to eighteen. I have three boys, or young men I might almost call them, of eighteen, two of seventeen, and three girls of sixteen and upwards.”

“Are they hard to manage?”

“The older ones? No; the most troublesome age is from thirteen to fifteen. Those who are older generally come to school for improvement, and are inclined to obey the rules of the school.”

This was reassuring. Walter knew that, in case he should be accepted as a teacher, he could not hope to cope with those two or three years older than himself. But if he could rely on the co-operation of the older pupils, he might get along.

“Mr. Barclay,” said he, after a moment’s thought, “do you think I would be too young to undertake the school?”

“You look pretty young,” answered the teacher. “You are not yet seventeen, I suppose?”

“I am not yet sixteen.”

“That is pretty young for a teacher. But then I was not much older than that when I commenced teaching.”

“Where did you teach?”

“In my native town, in Vermont. It was a winter district school of about forty scholars.”

“How did you get along?”

“Pretty well. I got the good will of the scholars, and they saw that I wanted to help them on as fast as possible.”

“I think I know enough to pass the examination,” said Walter, “and I am in search of some business to employ my time. If you want to give up the school, and recommend me to try it, I will offer myself to the school trustees.”

“What sort of a fellow are you, Mr. Howard--excusing the term I accidentally used--but have you got grit? Do you generally succeed in what you undertake?”

“I think I do,” said Walter, smiling. “I wouldn’t give it up, unless I was obliged to.”

“I asked the question,” said the young man, “because grit weighs heavily in this world. I have noticed that successful men are generally plucky, which is about the same thing.”

“I haven’t had much chance to tell yet,” said Walter. “Until a few months since everything was done for me, my father being rich; then I was thrown upon my own resources, and so far I have been successful.”

Here he gave an account of his adventures as book agent, and detailed the experiences of the night he passed in the cabin in the woods. But one thing he thought it best not to mention--his father’s business connection with General Wall, and the object of his present visit to Portville. He would have been as willing to confide in Allen Barclay as any one, but he thought his best course would be to make a confidant of no one, but to work out his plans by himself.

“From what you have told me,” said Allen Barclay, “I think you have a chance of succeeding, in spite of your youth. I shall be really glad to be relieved of the school, for I feel that every day I spend here is injurious to my health. I didn’t like to have the school closed, however, in the middle of the term.”

“Are teachers so scarce about here,” asked Walter, “that you could not find a substitute?”

“No, there is a good supply of teachers who can teach the ordinary English branches; but General Wall insists upon a teacher who can teach Latin, chiefly on account of his son, John.”

“Is John Wall the only boy who studies Latin in school?”

“No, there is a class of four beginners, who have just commenced reading easy sentences. This class consists of two girls and two boys.”

“I don’t claim to be a very good Latin scholar,” said Walter, “but from what you say I think I know enough to teach John Wall.”

“How much have you read?”

“I was in the sixth book of CÆsar when I left the Essex Classical Institute.”

“Then you have read more than I have, and I have had no difficulty in teaching John. He is just commencing the second book.”

“I think I shouldn’t have any trouble, especially as I read the Latin Reader through before commencing CÆsar. My father meant me to enter Columbia College.”

“I will tell you what you had better do, Mr. Howard,” said the young man. “Come and visit the school to-morrow, and stay all the forenoon. The Latin recitations come then. Thus you will see the scholars, and become acquainted with my way of management, and can form a better idea of whether you would like to undertake it.”

This struck Walter as an excellent suggestion, and he at once accepted the invitation.

“That will be much the best way,” he replied. “I suppose the school commences at nine o’clock.”

“Yes, that is the usual time all over the country, I think.”

The conversation now passed to other subjects, and Walter spent quite a pleasant evening with his new acquaintance. At half-past nine he rose to withdraw.

“Don’t be in a hurry, Mr. Howard,” said Allen.

“Thank you, I don’t think I have been. I should have felt quite lonely but for your kind invitation. I feel a little tired with traveling, and shall go to bed as soon as I get to my room.”

“Good-night, then. We shall meet at breakfast, I suppose?”

“Yes, unless I oversleep myself,” said Walter, laughing.

Walter found his bed a comfortable one, and slept soundly. In the morning he felt thoroughly refreshed, and was prepared to do justice to a plentiful breakfast.

“At what time do you start?” he asked of Allen Barclay, who was again seated next to him.

“At fifteen minutes of nine. The schoolhouse is only five minutes distant, and this allows me plenty of time.”

“It will seem like going to school again myself. I can almost fancy myself back again at the institute.”

“You will hardly find the scholars as far advanced,” said Barclay, “or the teacher,” he added, with a smile.

“That would certainly be true if I were teacher,” returned Walter.

“What do you say to a little walk before it is time to go to school?” asked the teacher. “I generally walk for half an hour or more, as an offset to the long confinement of school.”

“I shall be very glad to accompany you, Mr. Barclay.”

The two put on their hats, and walked up the road slowly.

Portville contained about two thousand inhabitants. Of these the majority lived in the village, while perhaps two-fifths were scattered about within a radius of three miles. It was rather a flourishing place on the whole, and most of the houses were neat and comfortable. There were several shops or stores, of different kinds; for farmers came from ten miles around to trade in Portville.

“It seems like a pleasant village,” said Walter to his companion.

“Yes,” said the teacher, “the town is pleasant, and I have found most of the people pleasant also. I should be very well satisfied to remain if my health would allow.”

“Whose house is that?” asked Walter, pointing to a residence larger and more pretentious than he had yet seen.

“That is the nicest house in town, and it belongs to the man who is reputed to be the richest man in town.”

“General Wall?” said Walter, inquiringly.

“The same.”

“What sort of a man is he?”

“You have seen him, so that I need not describe his personal appearance. He is a popular man, and I think tries to make himself agreeable in order to gain influence.”

“You say he is rich?”

“He is thought to be.”

“How did he gain his wealth?”

“He has been connected with mines, banks, real estate speculations, and, in fact, with whatever has money in it. He is something of a politician, and I hear that he hopes some day to go to Congress. In fact, he is a pushing man, and likely to make his influence felt.”

“Is his son like him?”

“He will never be as popular as his father. General Wall may be as selfish as his son, but he is too wise to show it as openly. John is disagreeable by nature. He wouldn’t trouble himself to appear agreeable.”

“From what I saw of him,” said Walter, “I should think it would be a good deal of trouble for him to be agreeable.”

“I have no doubt you got the correct impression of him. I like him as little as any of my scholars.”

While they were thus speaking, General Wall opened the front door of his house, and they met him at a short distance from his front gate. He bowed, as Walter thought, with an air of condescension, and said to the teacher, “Good-morning, Mr. Barclay. You are taking an early walk, I see.”

“Not very early, sir. I always take a short walk before school.”

“And how is the school? Is John getting on well with his Latin?”

“Tolerably well, General Wall.”

“Push him, Mr. Barclay, push him! I want my son to have a good education.”

“I will do my best.”

General Wall walked on with a self-satisfied air, as if he took a good deal of credit to himself for honoring the poor teacher with so much notice. He glanced at Walter, whom he recognized as his fellow-traveler of the night before, and concluded, from seeing him with Allen Barclay, that he was a friend or relative of the teacher.