the story; Bill and myself seat ourselves at table, when father directs each to give his melancholy narrative; Bill is hungry, and slowly begins, and lacks vivacity, and the impatient father turns to me for the rapid and vivid analysis of the horrid scholastic anarchy and rencontre then flying on exaggeration’s wide-spread wings, and distracting the peaceful firesides of Providence; I swallow the delicious food already in my mouth; cleanse my throat with a prolonged swallow of commingled tea and sugar, and tell my story in a nervous strain; my father’s eyes are large, and fixed on mine, throughout my exciting narrative, at whose close, he gets his hat and cane and autumnal mantle, and bids myself and Bill to follow him; we penetrate the pitchy darkness, and after varied street meanderings in the turbulent and piercing evening winds, we ascend the steps, and tap at the door of Shaw; we enter his pale presence, who is extremely courteous to father, who is a member of the Visiting School Committee, and invested with power of a teacher’s dismissal, which Shaw now fears; father opens his deadly batteries, and Shaw, perceiving no possible escape, pleads extenuation for the violent temper that nature gave him; spoke of William as a very good and studious boy, (a truth,) and of Stephen as a meritorious and enthusiastic youth, who dearly loved his books, (a lie,) and deeply regretted that his heated passion led him to the chastisement of William, and the incarceration of Stephen; and declared in tones of warm sincerity, that if father would forgive him, he would never whip nor imprison us again, but lead us up the hill of science through gentle and persuasive means; father pities and admires his humility, and, rising to depart, directs Shaw to inform him every Friday by letter, how many days William and Stephen have played the truant during the week, and with what facility we recite our lessons, and what our general conduct is; Shaw’s eyes flash joy at these delightful and magnanimous behests, while the eyes of Bill and myself flash guilt and fury at Shaw’s apparent conquest, because all our future sport is spoiled, and mine, especially, as I played truant about twice a week, and Bill once a month; and because I seldom got my lessons well; Shaw and father extend their hands, and shake a warm good night: and while they linger at the outer door in friendly conversation, I slyly crawl through father’s legs, to get into the street as soon as possible, and away from Shaw’s victorious presence; the last shake of hands transpire between father and Shaw, who slowly closes the door with a beatific smile; father, myself, and Bill muffle ourselves in our fervent garments; it snows and blows very hard; and, as we walk slowly homeward against the snow and wind, father delivers an affectionate and mournful lecture, gently chiding us for the trouble we had caused him, and the rapid increase of his snowy locks;