"They needn't care," said Asahel, who was also at the box- side. "They can bear to be not quite so smart as other folks. Mr. Haye said he never saw such a pair of young men; and I guess he didn't." Winifred sighed and still looked into the box, with a face that said plainly _she_ would like to have them smart. "O well, mamma," she said presently, "I guess they will look pretty nice, with all those new things; and the socks are nice, aren't they? If it was only summer -- nobody can look nicer than Winthrop when he has his white clothes on." "It will be summer by and by," said Mrs. Landholm. The evening came at last; the supper was over; and the whole family drew together round the fire. It was not a very talkative evening. They looked at each other more than they spoke; and they looked at the fire more than they did either. At last Mr. Landholm went off, recommending to all of them to go to bed. Asahel, who had been in good spirits on the matter all along, followed his father. The mother and daughter and the two boys were left alone round the kitchen fire. They were more silent than ever then, for a good space; and four pair of eyes were bent diligently on the rising and falling flames. Only Winifred's sometimes wandered to the face of one or the other of her brothers, but they never could abide long. It was Mrs. Landholm's gentle voice that broke the silence. "What mark are you aiming at, boys? -- what are you setting before you as the object of life?" "What _mark_, mother?" said Rufus after an instant's pause. "Yes." "To make something of myself!" he said rising, and with that fire-flashing nostril and lip that spoke his whole soul at work. "I have a chance now, and it will go hard but I will accomplish it." The mother's eye turned to her other son. "I believe I must say the same, mother," he replied gravely. "I have perhaps some notion of _doing_, afterwards; but the first thing is to be _myself_ what I can be. I am not, I feel, a tithe of that now." "I agree with you -- you are right, so far," answered the mother, turning her face again to the fire; -- "but in the end, what is it you would do, and would be?" "Profession, do you mean, mamma?" said Rufus. "No," she said; and he needed not to ask any more. "I mean, what is all this for? -- what purpose lies behind all this?" "To distinguish myself!" said Rufus, -- "if I can, -- in some way." "I am afraid it is no better than that with me, mother," said Winthrop; "though perhaps I should rather say my desire is to _be distinguished_." "What's the difference?" said his brother. "I don't know. I think I feel a difference."