"I do not know."
"Would you like to be a clergyman?"
"No," said John decisively.
"Or a lawyer, or a doctor like Tom McGregor?"
"I do not know—I have not thought about it much, but I might like to go to West Point."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, but I am not sure."
CHAPTER XII
When John was eager to hear what Leila wrote, his aunt laughed and said, "As you know, there is always a word of remembrance for you, but her letters would hardly interest you. They are about the girls and the teachers and new gowns. Write to her—I will enclose it, but you need expect no answer."
That Leila should have acquired interest in gowns seemed to him unlike that fearless playmate. He learned that the rules of the school forbade the writing of letters except to parents and near relatives. He was now to write to Leila the first letter he had written since his laborious epistles to his mother when at school. His compositions seemed to Rivers childlike long after he showed notable competence in speech.