the boat-house, and poured out his lonely and frightened soul to his father. Mr. Abbott answered that he would go up to see him at once, and did manage to pay his son a flying visit in the course of a month. But by this time Fessenden was ashamed of his reckless exhibition of sentiment, and, like a true American, had jealously concealed his gushing fountains under a cool, alert, and practical exterior. When his father arrived his head was high, and his blue eyes keen and bright, his very muscles expressive of masculine impatience with the soft side of life. Mr. Abbott had brought him a fishing-rod, which appeared to afford immediate consolement; and then, somewhat to his father’s relief, he began to talk about American history. “Mr. Morris wanted me to wait until I had read more of English and foreign history,” he said. “But I couldn’t, and I’ve been reading out of hours. We’ve a great country, haven’t we?” “Great.” “Up here they all think it’s the greatest in the world. Is it?” “That is largely a matter of experience. Personally, I see more in the future than in the present. We have never been whipped. That is fatal to steady and rounded development. A nation, like man, is full of vanity until life has trounced him more than once.” “I should hate it if we had ever been licked. And we have had such grand men to guide us--I have read the lives of Washington and Hamilton and Franklin; and we have such grand ideals--after I read the Declaration of Independence I went out into the woods and whooped and whooped. With that to live by we can’t be in need of a trouncing; and of course all other men try to follow in the footsteps of our great ones--there are a lot of others whose lives I haven’t had time to read yet.” Mr. Abbott turned his eyes to his son’s flushed face, and opened his straight lips as if about to smile and speak. But he closed them quickly, and brought down his lids over his cold dreaming eyes. He answered in a moment: “Our ideals, like our theories, are the best in the world. When you are launched out into the hustle, it will be time enough to know how they work. Meanwhile, don’t worry about your country--it has an amazing power of taking care of itself; but develop your intellect and your strength of character. Do you repeat that lesson of mine once a week?” Mr. Abbott invariably asked this question, and Fessenden was usually able to nod satisfactorily. He continued: “A man who came up here once said that this was the rich man’s country, that the poor man was getting less and less of a show, and often couldn’t get justice. They all argued after that--it was down at the store; but it didn’t seem to lead anywhere, and I’d like to know what he meant. Was he only talking? Is that the reason you are poor? You seem to me the cleverest man in the world--and even Mr. Morris thinks an awful lot of you--he’s not much on admiring. Are you ground down by the rich? I should think you could sail into ’em, and send ’em all higher’n a kite.”