"Same as if you wanted to learn to be a miller, why, you must go to milling," said he. "A man might spend half his life in reading books about milling and about the different kinds of flour and feed, and yet be as helpless as a baby the first time you put him in a grist mill. That's the way a great many folks do things. They never accomplish anything that is any good to them, because they spend all their time learning how and getting ready."
"There's a great deal in that," remarked Mrs. Fairchild, at whose house this conversation took place. "I've noticed folks never learn to keep house till they have it to do themselves."
"Exactly so, ma'am," said Jeduthun, bowing to Mrs. Fairchild. "One of those poor Creoles I was telling you about put me up to a notch about that. He said if I wanted to learn French well, it was a good way to translate something from French into English, and then back again into French, as well as I could, and then compare my French with that in the book; so I used to work at it with him and his brother, teaching them English while they taught me French. Poor boys! It kind of amused them, and kept them from being homesick, you see."
"Poor things!" said Mrs. Fairchild. "What became of them?"
"Oh, they both died—one of fever, and the other, I verily believe, because he wouldn't live without his brother. They were twins, you see, and had always been together. They dictated a letter to their grandfather in France—in Lyons the old gentleman lived—and after they died I added some to it, and sent it away. By and by I got a real good letter from the poor old man. I'll show it to you some day."
"Just think how nice it was that you could speak French!" said Mrs. Fairchild. "I always say to the children, 'Learn all you can of all sorts of good things. Learning is light luggage, and you never know when you may have occasion to use it.'"
"That is certainly so," said Flora. "I little thought, when I was amusing myself with Aunt Lizzy's sewing machine, learning to do all sorts of nice things on it, how convenient the knowledge would come some day."
The days were now growing rapidly shorter, and the hills and woods about Boonville were in all their autumn glory. Eben had found or made time to take up all Mrs. Antis's tender bulbs and put her garden in order for winter, and she in return had given him a fine assortment of geraniums and other plants for his mother's south and east windows. There was a great deal of business going on at the mill, and Eben came home every night so tired that he fell asleep over his French books, and laughingly declared that he was no more fit for study than one of the team horses. He and Jeduthun practiced speaking French at every opportunity, till at last they unwittingly gave serious offence to old Mr. Wilbur, who sent to Mr. Antis and complained that Eben and Jeduthun were impudent to him.
"I'm sure I didn't mean any impudence," said Eben, when called to account. "What did I say, Mr. Wilbur, that you thought was impudent?"
"I didn't know what you said, that was the thing of it," returned Mr. Wilbur. "You went on talking your French all the time I was hitching my horses and unloading my bags, and I know you were talking about me."