When I told my father of my desire to work, he seemed much pleased, and took me to the mill. But I noticed that as we left the house he put a small thin book in the pocket of his coat. Later in the day, I found that this was a Latin grammar, and that he had really taken me to the mill to study Latin instead of work. I protested that I did not want to study Latin; that I wished to work; that school was out, and our vacation-time had come; and that I had studied quite enough until the fall term should begin. But my father insisted that I ought to study at least a portion of the day, and that I really should be making some progress in my Latin grammar. Of course the district school did not teach Latin; the teacher knew nothing about Latin, and, indeed, that study did not belong to district school. I argued long with my father about the Latin, and begged and protested and cried; but it was all of no avail. I can see him now, as he gravely stood by the high white dusty desk in the little office of the mill. Inside the desk were the account-books that were supposed to record the small transactions of the mill; but these were rarely used. The toll was taken from the hopper, and that was all that was required. Even the small amount of book-keeping necessary for the mill, my father scarcely did,—for on the desk and inside were other books more important far to him than the ones which told only of the balancing of accounts. My father stands beside the dusty desk with the Latin grammar in his hand, and tells me what great service it will be to me in future years if I learn the Latin tongue. And then he tells me how great my advantages are compared with his, and how much he could have done if only his father had been able to teach him Latin while he was yet a child. In vain I say that I do not want to be a scholar; that I never shall have any use for Latin; that it is spoken only by foreigners, anyhow, and they will never come to Farmington, and I shall never go to visit them. I ask my father if he has ever seen a Latin, much less talked with one; and when he tells me that the language has been dead for a thousand years, I feel still more certain that I am right. But he persists that I cannot be a scholar unless I master Latin. It was of no avail to argue with my father; for fathers only argue through courtesy, and when the proper time comes round they cease the argument and say the thing must be done. And so, against my judgment and my will, I climbed upon the high stool in the little office and opened the Latin grammar, while the old miller bent over my shoulder and taught me my first lesson.