Every night the mother would read to her children from her old, well-worn Bible: and oftentimes James would puzzle his little playmates with unexpected scripture questions. His wonderful memory held a strange variety of information in its tenacious grasp. He delighted to hear his mother read poetry, and would often commit long passages by heart. His vivid imagination peopled the old orchard with all sorts of strange characters. Each tree was named after some noted Indian chief, or some favorite hero he had read about; and from a high ledge of rocks in the neighborhood, he would sometimes deliver long harangues to his imaginary audiences. Thomas watched the progress of his little brother with fatherly pride and admiration, and James looked up to him with loving confidence. He could now help about the farm in many ways, and when Thomas got an opportunity to work out and earn a few extra pennies, James would look after the stock, chop the wood, hoe the corn, and help his mother churn and milk. "One of these days, James," she said to him, as he was working diligently by her side, "I expect Thomas will go out into the world to earn his living, and then you will have to take his place here on the farm." "But, how soon will that be, mother?" asked the little fellow, who felt then that he could not possibly get along without his big brother. "Not until Thomas is twenty-one, and then you will be twelve years old--older by two years than Thomas was when your father died." "I wish I could be as good a farmer as he," said James; "but I think I would rather be a carpenter." "And I would rather have you a teacher or a preacher," said his mother; "but we must take our work just as Providence gives it to us, and farming, my boy, comes first to you." It was a trying day to the whole family when Thomas left the little home to work on a clearing, "way off in Michigan." He would be gone six months, at least, and there was very little communication in those days between Ohio and the farther west. "I wish you could have found work nearer home," said the fond mother. "But I shall earn higher wages there--twelve dollars a month,"--answered the self-forgetting son; "and, when I get back, I shall have money enough to build you a frame house." The little log cabin was fast coming to pieces, and for five years Thomas had been cutting and seasoning lumber for the new house, but they had never been able to hire a carpenter to put it up. James tried very hard to fill his brother's place, but he could never throw his whole soul into farming as Thomas had done. He read and studied all the time he could get out of working hours, and his thirst for knowledge was constantly increasing. But how was he to procure the education for which he longed? "Providence will open the way," said the good mother; "though how and when I cannot tell." CHAPTER II.