Harriet Greenough had always been thought a spoiled child, when she left home for Newburyport. Her father was of the almost obsolete class of farmers, whose gods are their farms, and whose creed--"Farmers are the most independent folks in the world." This latter was none the less absolute in its power over Mr. Greenough, from its being entirely traditionary. He often repeated a vow made in early life, that he would never wear other than "homespun" cloth. When asked his reasons, he invariably answered, "Because I won't depend on others for what I can furnish myself. Farmers are the most independent class of men; and I mean to be the most independent of farmers."--If for a moment he felt humbled by the presence of a genteel well-educated man, it was only for a moment. He had only to recollect that farmers are the most independent class of people, and his head resumed its wonted elevation, his manner and tone their usual swaggering impudence. While at school he studied nothing but reading, spelling, arithmetic, and writing. Latterly, his reading had been restricted to a chapter in the Bible per day, and an occasional examination of the almanac. He did not read his Bible from devotional feeling--for he had none; but that he might puzzle the "book men" of the village with questions like the following:--"Now I should like to have you tell me one thing: How _could_ Moses write an account of his own death and burial? Can you just tell me where Cain and Abel found their wives? What verse is there in the Bible that has but two words in it? Who was the father of Zebedee's children? How many chapters has the New Testament?--How many verses, and how many words?" Inability or disinclination to answer any and all of these, made the subject of a day's laughter and triumph. Nothing was so appalling to him as innovations on old customs and opinions. "These notions, that the earth turns round, and the sun stands still; that shooting stars are nothing but little meteors, I think they call them, are turning the heads of our young folks," he was accustomed to say to Mr. Curtis, the principal of the village academy, every time they met. "And then these new-fangled books, filled with jaw-cracking words and falsehoods, chemistry, philosophy, and so on--why, I wonder if they ever made any man a better farmer, or helped a woman to make better butter and cheese? Now, Mr. Curtis, it is _my_ opinion that young folks had better read their Bibles more. Now I'll warrant that not one in ten can tell how many chapters there are in it. My father knew from the time he was eight till he was eighty. Can _you_ tell, Mr. Curtis?"