"No. I am country-bred, and cherish a preference for the scenes of my childhood. Perhaps," she said, ingenuously, "the fault is in myself. I did not want to live in Richmond, and determined not to like it." "And are your aversions so strong that the manifold attractions of the metropolis cannot shake them? or, are you countrified upon principle?" "I have not given the city a fair trial. It has occurred to me lately that my weariness of it proceeded from monotony rather than satiety. There is little variety in school life." "Except when we regard it as the world in miniature," said Arthur. "It is different, doubtless, in 'Young Lady Establishments,' but we boys contrived to maintain a healthy circulation, one way or another." "Is it not a popular fallacy that school-days are the happiest of one's life?" asked Ida. "Unquestionably," rejoined he, promptly. "As well say that Spring is the farmer's happiest season. He has the pleasures of hope, the delight of viewing his whitening harvests in futuro; but there is severe, unromantic drudgery; suspense and boding fears for the result. The 'harvest home' for me!" "And when is that!" questioned Ida. "Now!" said he, with emphasis. "What do you mean?" inquired Carry. "That you and Miss Ida begin to reap from this date. To dispense with this inconvenient metaphor, your actions will be the proof of what your lessons have been; every day your knowledge and principles will be brought into play,--you will be binding up sheaves of worthy or of evil deeds." "You are trying to terrify us," said Carry. "Don't you wish yourself at school again, Ida!" "Are _you_ sorry you're a-goin' to turn out!" replied Ida, in a peculiar tone. "Oh, Celestia!" exclaimed Carry, with a burst of laughter. "Who? what?" said her father. "One of our school-mates, father; who, hearing another say that she was sorry to quit school, went through the house the day we were dismissed, asking each one confidentially, 'Are _you_ sorry you're a-goin to turn out?' grief at such an event being, in her code, a more heinous sin than to dance at a funeral." "Who was she?" asked Arthur. "Miss Pratt--Celestia Pratt." "Daughter of the member from A----?" "The same--what do you know of her?" "I met her once at a ball," he replied. "Were you introduced?" cried both girls in a breath. "Yes; and danced with her." "Enough!" said Carry. "We will not pursue the subject." "As you please," he returned; "but if I am not mistaken, as Sir Roger says, though with a different meaning, 'much could be said on both sides.'" CHAPTER VIII.