One after another then we filed into the chair and had those pliant, nervous, cold fingers steal, subtly, over our cranial topographies. Silently, quickly, skilfully, bumps that nature had placed on our skulls, and bumps that basket-ball and parallel bars had induced, were sorted out, interpreted, and their meanings put on a pad of paper, against our names. Then, after some moments of scratching, the “professor” handed each one of us his report. Laughingly they were received, laughingly they were perused, and then looks of startled wonder were the rule, for in some unaccountable way, the “professor” had managed to find strange true interpretations of us. He informed one student that if the latter had not planned to become a minister, he would have done well at mechanical engineering, a vocation in which the student had had some proficiency. There were some intimate revelations for each one of us, true appraisals of temperament, inclination, and habit. But it was the unknown things over which we smiled, the mysterious future, which we were ready to believe on account of the truthfulness with which he had told our present. Instantly the parsonage on the summit of grass terraces came into mind, as the last words of my phrenological report read: “Love: brown-haired young woman.” I paid my quarter, willingly, and went to my room, linking an unknown, unnamed, intangible “brown-haired young woman” with the waiting parsonage. _Chapter XXIX. It Devolves upon me to Entertain a Guest and the Sentimental Consequences Which Ensued_ Then, as if in conspiracy with the traveling phrenologist, the Seminary itself made “the brown-haired young woman,” concrete, before my eyes.