Under the books on the table lay a flat package which his mother did not know about, as Mr. Goodnow had slyly placed it there the last thing before John went up to bed. John untied it, and found a fine picture of Horace Greeley, and this note from his father:
"You needn't be afraid of putting Horace Greeley along of them chaps your mother has given you. He can stand it if they can; and they'll make a good beginning of your picter-gallery. I've heard tell of lawyers getting to be editors, too, afore now. If you should ever run a paper, what you know about farming won't hurt it none."
Many years have passed away since John talked with himself as he mowed the home meadow on that pleasant summer morning. If I should tell you the real name of John Goodnow, you would know at once how well his good mother's wish had been granted in the noble career of her well-known son. And there isn't a father in the land prouder of his son than Farmer Goodnow of his son, Judge ——.
CAMPING OUT.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
"What am I a-stoppin' for? Why, this 'ere's the eend of the road. It's as fur as I can git, even with one hoss and a buckboard."
It looked like it, for the wood road had been getting dreadfully scrubby for a mile or so.
"Wade, was it like this when you and your father and the rest were here before?"
"A good deal like it. How far are we from Pot Lake now, Mr. Jones?"