The thirty-first of August came,--Hugh's last day at home. His departure was hastened by his wish to return to Sibyl's wedding; he hoped to get initiated into the duties of his new position, conquer the first difficulties, and gain a few days of leisure for a short visit home before the busy winter season commenced. Mr. Hastings, the second-cousin who had offered Hugh a place in his counting-room, was a New York merchant, a stern, practical man, who expected full measure of work from all his subordinates. Yet, with all his rigor, he had a kind heart in his breast, and was inclined to treat his young relative with favor: he had seen him but once, when, during school-life, Hugh had spent a vacation at his house; but the old man had been more pleased than he would acknowledge, with the boy's overflowing spirits and bright intellect. He had no sons; his daughters were married, and the next year he had written to Aunt Faith proposing to take Hugh into his business on the completion of his education, promising, if the young man stood the test well, that he would give him a small share of the profits after a certain period, and intimating that there would be no bar to his becoming a partner eventually, if he showed the proper qualifications. The business men among Aunt Faith's acquaintances told her that this was a fine opening for Hugh, that the house of J. B. Hastings & Co. stood well in New York, and that they would gladly accept such an opportunity for their sons. Hugh himself was pleased with the idea, and, when it was finally decided that he should go, he wrote a letter full of enthusiastic thanks and hopes to Mr. Hastings, and finished his remaining two years at college with many pleasant visions of his future life floating in his brain. "'Tis the last day of summer, left blooming alone," chanted Tom, as he entered the dining-room where the rest of the family were at breakfast. "To-morrow Hugh will be gone,--to-morrow Estella Camilla Wales must pine in vain for her mistress, who will be engrossed in decimal fractions, and to-morrow I must take down from the dusty shelf that dismal old _Latin Prose_. I wonder who cares for _Romulus_ and _Remus_? I don't!" "Don't talk about it beforehand," said Gem; "let's pretend it's the very first day of vacation." "Oh, what dismal faces!" said Aunt Faith, laughing. "School is not such a trial after all. I should be sorry to hear you spell deficiency, 'd-e-f-i-s-h-u-n-s-y,' as Annie Chase did, Gem." "Or to say, '_il est la plus mauvais garcon que je sais de_,' as Jennie Fish did," added Gem, laughing at the remembrance. "Or like Ed. Willis in the Bible class, last term," said Tom. "Mr. Stone was talking about the Jews and Gentiles. 'I'm not a Gentile,' said Ed. getting real mad; 'I'm a Presbyterian.'"