By “fixing their flints” Mr. Kennedy meant to express the fact that he intended to place his children in an entirely new sphere of action, and with a view to this he ordered out his horse and cariole[1] on the following morning, went up to the school, which was about ten miles distant from his abode, and brought his children home with him the same evening. Kate was now formally installed as housekeeper and tobacco-cutter; while Charley was told that his future destiny was to wield the quill in the service of the Hudson’s Bay Company, and that he might take a week to think over it. Quiet, warm-hearted, affectionate Kate was overjoyed at the thought of being a help and comfort to her old father and mother; but reckless, joyous, good-humoured, hare-brained Charley was cast into the depths of despair at the idea of spending the livelong day, and day after day, for years it might be, on the top of a long-legged stool. In fact, poor Charley said that he “would rather become a buffalo than do it.” Now this was very wrong of Charley, for, of course, he didn’t _mean_ it. Indeed, it is too much a habit among little boys, ay, and among grown-up people, too, to say what they don’t mean, as no doubt you are aware, dear reader, if you possess half the self-knowledge we give you credit for; and we cannot too strongly remonstrate with ourself and others against the practice—leading, as it does, to all sorts of absurd exaggerations, such as gravely asserting that we are “broiling hot” when we are simply “rather warm,” or more than “half dead” with fatigue when we are merely “very tired.” However, Charley _said_ that he would rather be “a buffalo than do it,” and so we feel bound in honour to record the fact. [1] A sort of sleigh.