ots from his feet, and hastened to Nat in the stable. The latter
passed his hand over his eyes when he heard that Ivo was now a student.

Next morning our young friend was sad when the time came for his first
visit to the grammar-school. He was waked early, and obliged to dress
in his best clothes. To make the parting less bitter, his mother went
with him to the top of the hill. There she gave him a little roast meat
wrapped up in paper, and two creutzers as a precaution against
unforeseen emergencies.

Our readers have gone to Horb with us often enough to know the way.
But, besides the winding road of only two or three miles which ascends
the steep hill, there is a footpath which turns off to the left at the
hill-top, and where you cannot walk, but only scamper straight to the
Horb brick-yard. Ivo took this path: his heart beat high, and his tears
flowed freely, for he felt that he was entering upon a new and a
different life.

At the brick-yard he wiped his eyes and looked at the roast meat. It
had a delicious odor. He unfolded the paper, and the meat smiled at him
as if it wished to be kissed. He tried the least bit, then a little
more, and in a short time he had tried every thing but the paper. Yet,
had he been ninety years old, he could not have done more wisely: the
lunch restored his spirits and his courage, and he walked on with a
smiling face and steady eye.

The boys at the school inspected the appearance of the new-comer with
the minuteness of custom-house officers. The size of his clothes amused
them particularly.

"What's your name?" asked one.

"Ivo Bock."

"Oh, this is Ivo Book,
Dress'd in the family frock!"

said a boy with a fine embroidered collar. The muscles of Ivo's face
twitched as is usual when a crying-spell is setting in. But, when the
boys gathered around him to follow up their words with practical
pleasantry, he struck at them with his fists hard and fiercely. The
rhymester with the collar now came up and said, "Never mind. Nobody
shall hurt you: I'll help you."

"Are you in earnest, or do you only want to fool me more?" asked Ivo,
with a trembling voice, still clenching his fists.

"In earnest, 'pon honor. There's my hand."

"Well and good," said Ivo, taking his proffered hand. Perhaps the boy's
original intention had been to hit upon a new way of teasing Ivo, or to
oppress him with the grandeur of his protection; but Ivo's firmness
turned the