“Let me go to school,” said I, lifting my languid head and smiling on my father. I understood him at once, and it was as if the voice of my life itself answered him.
CHAPTER VI.
A year after the resolution thus come to, I was at home for the holidays.
“I hope,” said my mother, “that they are doing Sisty justice. I do think he is not nearly so quick a child as he was before he went to school. I wish you would examine him, Austin.”
“I have examined him, my dear. It is just as I expected; and I am quite satisfied.”
“What! you really think he has come on?” said my mother, joyfully.
“He does not care a button for botany now,” said Mr. Squills.
“And he used to be so fond of music, dear boy!” observed my mother, with a sigh. “Good gracious, what noise is that?”
“Your son’s pop-gun against the window,” said my father. “It is lucky it is only the window; it would have made a less deafening noise, though, if it had been Mr. Squills’s head, as it was yesterday morning.”