“An education,” replied Clinton.
“Oh, going to college?” suggested Jerry.
“There, do you see that field, the next beyond the stone-wall?” inquired Clinton, suddenly turning the subject. “That’s my corn-field. I planted it last year, and raised over forty bushels of as handsome corn as you ever saw. Father gives me the use of the land, and helps me about the ploughing; and I do all the rest of the work, and find the manure, seed, etc., and have all I can make out of it.”
“Do you keep hens, still?” inquired Jerry.
“Yes; the hens and turkeys are mine, and I have all I can make out of them,” replied Clinton. “It’s almost six years since I began to take charge of the poultry. I make them pay me about twenty dollars a year.”
“I don’t see how you do it; father always said hens were more plague than profit,” remarked Jerry.
“It’s all in management,” replied Clinton. “They need considerable care and attention, and they won’t pay you any profit if you neglect them. But here we are, at the door; come in, and show yourself to mother.”
Jerry followed Clinton into the house, and was very cordially received by Mrs. Davenport. Clinton’s little sister, Annie, was also in the room; but, though she had once known Jerry, he seemed to have faded from her recollection, and she was rather shy of the big, brown-skinned boy.
“This is something new, isn’t it?” inquired Jerry, pointing to a neat trellis, in diamond-work, surrounding the back door-way.
“Yes; I made that last fall,” replied Clinton.