Harry learned rapidly. At the end of four weeks he had completed the Latin grammar, or that part of it which his teacher thought necessary for a beginner to be familiar with, and commenced translating the easy sentences in ``Andrew's Latin Reader.'' He didn't confine his studying to the two hours that he passed in school, but devoted his spare min utes during the day to preparing himself for recitation.
``You are getting on famously, Harry,'' said his teacher. ``I never had a scholar who advanced so rapidly before.''
Harry brightened up.
``It is because I like it,'' he said.
The young man smiled.
``I
should like to be an editor,'' said Harry; ``but I don't see much prospect of it.''
``Why not?''
``An editor must know a good deal.''
``There are some who don't,'' said Leonard Morgan, with a smile. ``However, you would like to do credit to the profession, and it is certainly in these modern days a very important profession. There is nothing to prevent your becoming an editor some day, if you strongly desire it. The sooner you begin to prepare yourself for it the better.''
``How can I prepare myself?''
``To begin with, by doing your best to acquire a good education; not only by studying lessons, but by reading as extensively as you are able. An editor should be a man of large information. Have you ever practiced writing compositions?''
``A
little; not much.''
``If you get time to write anything, and will submit it to me, I will point out such faults as I may notice.''
``Suppose I take my motto.''
``What is that?''
`Live and learn.' ''
``Do so, by all means. That is a subject upon which you may be fairly said to have some ideas of your own.''
In due time Harry presented a composition on this subject. I do not propose to place it on record here. He sent a copy home, and received in reply a letter from his father, expressing surprise and gratification at the excellence of his essay.
But while intent upon cultivating his mind, Harry had not lost sight of the great object which had sent him from home to seek employment among strangers. He had undertaken to meet the note which his father had given Squire Green in payment for the cow, and he felt confident that he could do it, if his health and business continued good. By the first of December he had saved up thirty-three dollars toward this object. By the middle of January the note would come due.
So he had every reason to believe that he could carry out his scheme.
He was waited upon by Luke Harrison on the first day of December, and asked to join in a grand sleighing excursion to a town ten miles distant.
``It's no use talking, Luke; I can't go.''
This conversation took place as they were walking home from the store in the evening. Harry pulled out his handkerchief suddenly from his pocket, and with it came his pocketbook, containing all his savings. He didn't hear it fall; but Luke did, and the later, moreover, suspected what it was. He did not call Harry's attention to it, but, falling back, said: ``I've got to go back to the store. I forgot something. Good-night.''
``Good-night!'' said Harry, unsuspiciously.
Luke stooped swiftly while our hero's back was turned, and picked up the pocketbook. He slipped it into his own pocket, and, instead of going back to the store, went to his own room, locked the door, and then eagerly pulled out the pocketbook and counted the contents.
``Thirty-three dollars!'' he said to himself, in exultation. ``What a miser that fellow is! It serves him right to lose his money.''
