CHAPTER XV.

THE GREAT RAREE-SHOW.

YOUNG Ben, on the morrow, was a different lad from the tired, drowsy, and taciturn little traveler of the previous night; for no sooner was sister Deborah below stairs arranging for the morning meal, than he was by her side, following her, now to the wood-house, then to the pantry, and afterward to the parlor, with a shoe on one of his hands and a brush in the other, busily engaged in the double office of disburdening his mind of the heavy load of wonders he had seen on his travels, and getting rid at the same time of a little of the mud he had brought back with him from the country.

Then, as the girl began to set the basins and the platters on the table, he fell to dodging her about the room as she rambled round and round, and chattering to her the while of the curious old French town of St. Louis, but still polishing away as he chattered. And though Deborah insisted that he must not clean his shoes over the breakfast-table, on he went, scrubbing incessantly, with his head on one side, and talking to the girl by jerks, first of that darling Jacky, the pony they had borrowed of the French farmer, and next of the "ark" in which they had descended the great Ohio River.

When, too, the boy retired with the little maid to assist her in opening the store, there he would stand in the street, with one of the shutters in his hand resting on the stones, as he described to her

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the herd of buffaloes, and flocks of wild turkeys, and the deer and pelicans that he had seen in the prairies. Nor would he even cease his prattling during the boiling of the milk; for while Deborah stood craning over the simmering saucepan, the eager lad was close against her shoulder, jabbering away, now of the lusciousness of the custard apples, then of the delicacy of the prairie plums and grapes, and "only wishing" she had been with uncle and himself at their gipsy-dinner off venison-hams and wild fruit in the great hunting plains.

During breakfast, however, both the manner and the matter of the boy's discourse were changed; for no sooner did the father and mother make their appearance, than the little fellow grew graver in tone, and talked only of such things as he fancied his parents would be glad to hear from him. In his desire, however, to let his father see the new man he had become, and what fine principles he had acquired by his journey, the boy, boy-like, went into such raptures upon the art of money-making, and the use of capital in the world, that the simple-minded old Puritan kept shaking his head mournfully at his brother Ben as he listened to the hard, worldly philosophyfor it sounded even ten-fold harder and harsher from the lips of the mere child expounding it. So, when the exigencies of the shop summoned the candle-maker from the table, Josiah could not refrain from whispering in the ear of the elder Benjamin, as he passed behind his chair, "You have a deal to do and to undo yet, brother Ben, before you make a fine man of the lad."

But once alone with his mother, the little fellow was again a different boy; for then, as he jumped

discomfiture of her clean mob-cap and tidy muslin kerchief), he told how he had made up his mind to become a rich man, and how happy he meant to make them all by-and-by; how she was to have a "help" to do all the work of the house for her; how he meant to buy Deborah a pony (just like dear old Jacky) with the first money he got; and how Uncle Benjamin was to live with them always at the nice house they were to have in the country, with a prime large orchard to it; and how, too, he was to purchase a ship for Captain Holmes (it wouldn't cost such a great deal of money, he was sure), so that the captain might have a vessel of his own, and take them with him sometimes to any part of the world they wanted to see. All of which it dearly delighted the mother's heart to hear, not because she had the least faith in the fond plans of the boy ever being realized, but because his mere wish to see them all happy made her love him the more.

At last it was Uncle Benjamin's turn for a têteà-tête with the little man (for the household duties soon called the dame away from the parlor); whereupon the godfather proceeded to impress upon his pupil the necessity of continuing their lessons with as little delay as possible, telling him that his father had given them only another week's grace, and adding that there was much still for the little fellow to learn in the time.

"What! more to be learned, uncle ?” cried the astounded youth, who was under the impression that he was well enough crammed with worldly wisdom to be started in life at once. "Surely there can be nothing else for a fellow to know. Why, you've taught me how to get on in the world, and how to end as a rich man too, and what more a chap can want I'm sure I can't see."