It was the beginning of a new world for him. He studied with a concentration that made him oblivious to all that occurred about him, and he had to be reminded of calls to recitations by an individual summons. He fairly overwhelmed Little Teacher by his voracity for learning and a perseverance that vanquished all obstacles. He soon outstripped his class, and finally his young instructress was forced to bring forth her own textbooks to satisfy his avidity. He devoured them all speedily, and she then applied to the Judge for fuel from his library to feed her young furnace. "He takes to learning as naturally as bees to blossoms," she reported. "He must ease off," warned Barnabas. "Young hickory needs plenty of room for full growth." "No," disagreed the Judge, "young hickory is as strong as wrought iron. He's going to have a clear, keen mind to argue law cases." "I think not," said M'ri. "You forget another quality of young hickory. No other wood burns with such brilliancy. David is going to be an author." "I am afraid," wrote Joe, "that Dave won't be a first-class ranchman. He must be plum locoed with dreams." This prognostication reached David's ears. "Without dreams," he argued to Barnabas, "one would be like the pigs." "Wal, now, Dave, mebby pigs dream. They sartain sleep a hull lot." David laughed appreciatively. "Dave," pursued Barnabas, "they're all figgerin' on your futur, and they're a-figgerin' wrong. Joe thinks you'll take to ranchin'. You may--fer a spell. M'ri thinks you may write books. You may do even that--fer a spell. The Jedge counts on yer takin' to the law like a duck does to water. You may, but law larnin', cow punchin', and story writin' 'll jest be steppin' stuns to what I know you air goin' ter be, and what I know is in you ter be." "What in the world is that, Uncle Barnabas?" asked David in surprise. "A farmer?" "Farmer, nuthin'!" scoffed Barnabas. "Yer hain't much on farmin', Dave, though I will say yer furrers is allers straight, like everythin' else you do. Yer straight yerself. No! young hickory can bend without breakin', and thar's jest one thing I want fer you to be." "What?" persisted the boy. Barnabas whispered something. The blood of the young country boy went like wine through his veins; his heart leaped with a big and mighty purpose. "Now, remember, Dave," cautioned Barnabas, "what all work and no play done to Jack. You git yer lessons perfect, and recite them, and read a leetle of an evenin'; the rest of the time I want yer to get out and cerkilate."