The Patriarch dropped his cane, clasped his hands to his fat sides, leaned back so that his head rested against the wall, and gagged. The Tinsmith and the Storekeeper laughed so loud that the School Teacher tossed aside the county paper and came running to the door to inquire what the joke was. “I’m blessed ef I know,” said the Miller, he being the only one of the party who had retained his powers of speech. He laid a hand on the student’s knee and asked, “Did you make a joke?” But the young man had dived into his pocket and got out his pipe again, and was busy filling it and lighting it and smoking it, by this act asserting his manhood. He now joined good-naturedly in the laughter. “How much does a kawledge man git a week?” asked the Loafer. “It must pay pretty well, jedgin’ from your clothes.” “He gets nothing,” was the reply. “I am studying, preparing myself for my work in life.” “My, oh, my!” murmured the Patriarch. “Preparin’--preparin’? Why, ’hen I was your age I was prepared long ago. I was in full, complete charge o’ me father’s saw-mill.” The student was nettled, not at the reflection on his own intellectual attainments which this remark seemed to contain, but he felt that in this company he was the representative of modern ideas, of education and enlightenment. The Middle Ages were attacking the Nineteenth Century, and it was his duty to combat the forces of Ignorance. So he removed his briar from his mouth and sent a ring of smoke floating away on the listless air. He watched it intently as it passed out from the shelter of the porch into the great world, and grew broader and bigger and finally disappeared altogether. There was something very impressive in the young man’s act. His voice had fallen an octave when he turned to address the Patriarch. “Had I chosen a saw-mill as my career, I think I too should have long since been prepared for it. But to fit oneself for work in the world as a lawyer, a doctor, a minister, requires preparation. It takes years of study.” “How many?” asked the Loafer, turning around and eyeing the student over his knees. “Well, I’ll be twenty-four when I get through studying and become a lawyer.” “Then what’ll ye do?” “I’ll work at my profession and make money.” “How long’ll ye do that?” “Why, I don’t know particularly--till I have a fair fortune, I suppose.” “How old’ll ye be then?” “Around sixty, I guess.” “Then what’ll ye do?” “What does every man do eventually? Die.” “Then ye’ve spent all them years learnin’ to die, eh? Does a felly go off any easier ef his head is crammed full of algebray or physical g’ography? Mighty souls! Why my pap couldn’t ’a’ tol’ ye, ef ye dewided an apple in two halves an’ et one how many was left, yit ’hen his time come he jest emptied out his ole pipe, leaned back in his rocker, stretched his feet toward the fire an’ went.”