and refuses to go anywhere. If he goes he takes his road
through Stone's Woods, and comes home the back way by the wagon-house.
The boy has grit, real grindstone grit: therefore he keeps this up, and
sooner or later he has it out with the old farmer about his clothes.
"Well, well, don't rare and pitch like a flax-break: we'll see about
it," says the old gentleman. The old farmer takes the boy to town and
buys him a sleek, shiny black suit--the coat is a long-waisted,
long-tailed frock--and he adds a pair of good "stubbid" shoes, having
strings made of leather.

"You're stuck, and stuck bad," says the hired man compassionately when
he sees the suit. A boy who is as keen as a brier and smart as a whip
cannot be expected to wear "humbly" clothes forever. A neat suit made by
the village tailor, and a necktie, hat and boots that put him into
positively ethereal spirits, are articles that he finally attains. In
these clothes he joins the debating society and the choir. Saul Lapham,
a friend of his, plays the cornet at the choir-rehearsals. Saul lays
down the dignity of a human being to puff out his cheeks, bulge his eyes
and grow red in the face blowing a brass horn. Saul is a tyro in the
business--can't blow softly, though he tries hard to do so, and
completely drowns the singers except when he breaks down, which occurs
rather often, to their extreme relief. The little spats and sensations
of the choir-rehearsals are entertainment for the sylvan boy. One
evening Miss Tway was so "worked up" about failing in a solo she was
trying to sing that she fainted twice, the first time with her mouth
shut, the second time with it open; and Saul, not knowing what else to
do, put a gum-drop into it, which offended Miss Tway, for she thought it
was his finger.

The lad is a gallant figure in his new suit galloping on horseback from
his highlands down to the village on the flats to attend some rustic
diversion. In the tavern ballroom there is a little stage with a curtain
hung across it, and on that stage the boy sees the most charming
performance he ever beholds. It consists of a regular play, with a
ballet between the acts, and a minstrel performance introducing the
celebrated scene of a negro teaching another negro to tune the banjo,
where the pupil climbs up the back of his chair while endeavoring to
ascend the scale; and all ending with a puppet-show, the whole being
done by three young fellows. "Why-ee! 'twas wonderful!" says the bo