Wits of neighboring towns referred to the sleeping village as Pompeii, Old Has Been and Long Memories. The main street with its overhanging elms was always silent. And the common, once noisy with excited children, was solemn in its stillness. Every day seemed Sunday. In short, Longfields went the way of many other New England villages. It became a restful and picturesque reminder of better days. But, after all, it was merely following, in its decay, the example of famous queens of fashion, Troy, Babylon and Thebes. This gentle retirement to oblivion affected Cyrus less than his father. For Dr. Alton sent him away to school, to prepare for college, and the absent boy almost forgot the tragedies of his home. Moreover, Cyrus found much excitement in his new surroundings; much to learn--and unlearn--from contact with so many others of his age. They came from town and country and from almost every state. What he got from books was least in interest and often the least in value. That million-sided problem, Human Nature, was, as usual, the hardest to understand, the last to be solved. Rarely does a boy with Anglo Saxon blood in his veins find it necessary to cure himself of too much polish. But even in this case Old Human Nature was triumphant. When away from Longfields Cyrus found his ceremonious courtesy was misapplied, misunderstood and almost a misdemeanor. His eighteenth century bows were regarded by his chambermaid as ironical; by his classmates as a silly affectation, and were resented by his instructors as efforts to be funny at their expense. Further discouragement came one day in the friendly warning of an older boy. "You know, Drowsy, or you don't know, that those salaams of yours give the impression that before you came to this academy you were the colored porter on a parlor car." The result was that before the end of the first term his manners were only a trifle better than those of other boys. Except, of course, when taken off his guard, as in his interview with the wife of a certain prosperous citizen who slipped and fell in coming out of the post office. She was a sensitive lady, irascible and of massive proportions. As she landed on the sidewalk, two snow white stockings with stalwart limbs inside waved briefly before the public eye. They resembled the whitened limbs of a billiard table. Letters fell from one of her hands. With the other she clung convulsively to a large umbrella. Three girls involuntarily laughed aloud.