“The others joined, but it was to _young Beecher_ that father was most drawn. When the ‘good-nights’ were said, and while I went to the dairy to make some preparations for breakfast, father and mother took counsel together about the work for the morrow and various matters; but just as I returned father was saying: ‘He’s smart. If he lives he’ll make his mark in the world.’ ‘Who, father?’ I asked. ‘Why, young Beecher.’ (But father didn’t quite like the ‘mark’ he made a few months later—‘Nothing but a boy!’) “The visit was prolonged some days, and there was no end to the fun and frolic. Your father was constantly investigating, and by no means lacked assistance from my brother and his other more demure classmate, who, however, stayed only part of the time. “Mother and I were necessarily much of the time busy in the kitchen, milk-cellar, dairy, etc., but these young collegians found those places most attractive. The gentle way mother smiled at all the younger one’s mischievous pranks was a source of perpetual delight to him. He always said he fell in love with my mother, and, not being able to get her, took up with me. “One day, in taking out the bread, pies, etc., from the old-fashioned brick oven with the long-handled shovel, she dropped some ashes on one of the pies, and called me from the dairy to get it off while she removed other articles. Your father sprang forward. ‘No, no; I will get it off for you,’ and, respectfully taking it from her hands, the three, without her seeing the mischief, marched off with it into the garden, and, seating themselves under a big apple-tree, ate it all up. This labor of love accomplished, the others rather held back from proclaiming it, but your father demurely walked in and handed mother the empty plate, saying: ‘There! see, we have cleaned the plate nicely!’ “One evening your uncle told him one of their classmates was engaged to Miss ———. ‘I don’t believe it,’ said young Beecher. ‘She knows nothing about singing, and I am sure F——— would never marry one who did not. I know I never would marry a woman who could not sing.’ Short-sighted mortal! In the evening brother asked him to get his flute and have some music. He did so, and after a short time asked me to sing. I replied: ‘I can’t; I never sang a note in my life.’ “In the summer and fall after first meeting your father I taught school in Clappville, South Leicester, Mass., and at the commencement of his fall vacation at Amherst Henry found it necessary to go from Amherst to Boston (thinking it _shorter, perhaps_!) _via_ Clappville, and entered my school-room just as I was dismissing the school for the day. He spent the evening at Brother Jones’s, where I was boarding, and, incidentally of course, remarked that he understood I was intending to visit my aunt in Whitingsville during the winter. I replied that after my school closed I was thinking of having a play-spell before taking another, and might be there at least through December.