I solemnly averred that I had not been so evangelical as that. My aunt hurried into the kitchen where she lingered for a few moments. On her return she said: “It’s all right, Al. There’s nothing wrong. He’s just impressed by hearing you preach, that’s all. He said to me, ‘If education can do that, for a fellow, I want some of it!’” The next morning a heavy snow was falling. Martin would have no work. After breakfast he asked me if I would go into the parlor and have a talk, he wanted to ask me something. I readily agreed. The former antagonism had gone from his voice as he began to speak. His words came quietly, curiously, like a child’s. “Priddy, what can a chap learn to be in college?” “What do you mean? What does a college fit men for?” I asked. Martin nodded soberly, his eyes fixed on mine. I laughed, “Oh, college will train you for almost any profession; that is, the professional schools will. You can study to be a doctor, a lawyer, a forester, a teacher--oh, anything you think of!” “What do you think’s the best kind of a thing for a chap to be?” “Why,” I replied, in embarrassment, “that depends upon the fellow, you know.” “Well,” said Martin, “what kind of a profession would you advise a chap like me to take, for instance?” I smiled, knowing what all this fencing meant. “Forestry is a good profession, just now,” I advised. “It’s a new branch to the government and brings in good money. I am sure you would like to be a forester.” “What’s his work, especially?” came the question. I explained, as best I knew, the different functions of a trained forester, emphasizing, “Mind you, Martin, he’s paid for what he knows and not what he does with his hands. He doesn’t have to chop down trees and all that sort of stuff; but he knows all about saving the forests, improving them, doctoring them.” “How long does it take a man to learn that trade?” was the next question. “About seven years, including college and professional school.” “It would take a fellow like me that long?” “Oh,” I admitted, reluctantly, for I felt that this would put a stop to any ambition that he had, “of course you are not ready for college. That would mean at least three years more!” Martin mused, “Seven and three--ten. I’m twenty-eight years old. That would bring it up to thirty-eight.” “Yes,” I assented, “but you must remember that there are a good many working years left, after that!” “I’m not thinking about myself; it’s Nora. We planned to get married by spring. Of course I should put it off. I wonder if you’d help me?” “Help you--how--what?” “Help me to explain to Nora; so she’ll wait--wait probably that long!” “You can count on me to help you in anything, Martin.” “When she knows it’s for her betterment, maybe she’ll be willing,” interjected Martin, as if in argument with himself. I nodded, vigorously. “Anyway,” he said with that belligerent tone of his, “she’ll have to be!”