in North Cambridge. Ah,
they did things quickly in those days; _ils savoient vivre_.

They had made him a Bachelor of Arts, and a Master of Arts he had made
himself by paying for that dignity, and all this while the class punch
was fresher in his memory than Latin quantities; for these parchment
honors were a bit overwhelming to one who had gone through his college
course _non clam, sed vi et precario_, as his tutor courteously
phrased it. And then he had gotten out of his college gown into a
beautiful blue frock coat and white duck trousers, and driven into
town and sought for other favors, more of flesh and blood, carried his
other degree with a rush--and Miss Abigail Dowse off to drive with
him. And that evening Mr. James Bowdoin had said to him, "James!"

"Yes, sir," said Mr. James.

"Now you've had your four years at college, and I think it's time you
should be learning something."

"Yes, sir," said Mr. James.

"So I wish you to come down to the counting-room at nine o'clock and
sort the letters."

"Yes, sir," said Mr. James.

Mr. James Bowdoin looked at him suspiciously over his spectacles. "At
eight o'clock; do you hear?"

"I hear, sir," said Mr. James.

Mr. James Bowdoin lost his temper at once. "Oh, you do, do you?" said
he. "You don't want to go to Paris, to Rome,--to make the grand tour
like a gentleman, in short, as I did long before I was your age?"

"No, sir," said Mr. James.

"Then, sir, by gad," said Mr. James Bowdoin, "you may come down at
half past seven--and--and--sweep out the office!"

III.

So it happened that Mr. James was in the counting-room that day; but
that he happened also to be alone requires further explanation. Two
glasses of the old Governor Bowdoin white port had been left untasted
on the dinner-table the night before,--the one, that meant for Mr.
James Bowdoin, who had himself swept out of the room as he made that
last remark about sweeping out the office; the other, that of his son,
Mr. James, who had instantly gone out by the other door, and betaken
himself for sympathy to the home of Miss Abigail Dowse, which stood on
Fort Hill, close by, where the sea breezes blew fresh through the
white June roses, and Mr. James found her walking in the garden path.

"You must tell him," said Miss Dowse, when Mr. James had recounted his
late conversation to her, after such preliminary ceremonies as were
proper--under the circumstances.

So Mr. James walked down to the