worse than the
sons of neighbors in our circumstances. As for going barefoot, all
country boys at that time did so during the summer months; your papa
was not an exception.

"You speak of his gloveless hands. I never saw a pair of kid gloves
worn by farmers while we lived in Vermont or Pennsylvania; and
certainly they would have been very inappropriate for a boy-farmer or a
printer's apprentice to wear; but brother was always, both at home and
at Poultney, supplied with warm woollen mittens of mother's knitting.
As for the cut of his trousers, I am surprised that any sensible author
should use so unfit a word as 'elegance' in speaking of a poor farmer's
clothing. I told you the other day that our wardrobe for every-day
wear was spun, woven, and made by mother, and it is not to be expected
that home-made coats and trousers should have the cut of a fashionable
New York tailor; but they were, at all events, warm and comfortable.
That brother's trousers were always short, and especially in one leg,
is an absurd fabrication. The story may perhaps have risen from some
one who remembers his lameness in Poultney, when he acquired the habit
of dragging one leg a little after the other, and that style of walking
may have apparently shortened one of the trouser legs. Have you
anything else to ask, little one?"

"Yes, auntie," said Gabrielle, smiling at mamma's methodical way of
answering: "was papa an awkward boy, and did he eat vulgarly?"

"I have told you, dear," mamma replied, "how we were brought up. I
never saw your papa eat ravenously while he was at home; for father was
a despot at table, and any appearance of gluttony would have been
quickly checked by the dreaded descent of his fork upon the table. I
think it probable that later in life, when your papa became a
distinguished man, and every moment was of value, that he did eat
quicker than was consistent with the laws of etiquette, but not when he
was a boy.

"As for his awkwardness, I can readily imagine that a boy so intensely
preoccupied would not appear in so favorable a light to strangers as
one who should seek the society of people rather than books, and a
superficial observer might have mistaken his air of abstraction for
rustic bashfulness. You know that he was always absorbed in a book
from the time he was three years old. Father would often send him to
do an errand--to fetch wood or the like; he would start very
obediently, but with his eyes upon hi