But the greatest event of Yan's then early life now took place. His
school readers told him about Wilson and Audubon, the first and last
American naturalists. Yan wondered why no other great prophet had
arisen. But one day the papers announced that at length he had
appeared. A work on the Birds of Canada, by ..., had come at last,
price one dollar.

Money never before seemed so precious, necessary and noble a thing.
"Oh! if I only had a dollar." He set to work to save and scrape. He
won marbles in game, swopped marbles for tops, tops for jack-knives as
the various games came around with strange and rigid periodicity. The
jack-knives in turn were converted into rabbits, the rabbits into cash
of small denominations. He carried wood for strange householders;
he scraped and scraped and saved the scrapings; and got, after some
months, as high as ninety cents. But there was a dread fatality
about that last dime. No one seemed to have any more odd jobs; his
commercial luck deserted him. He was burnt up with craving for that
book. None of his people took interest enough in him to advance the
cash even at the ruinous interest (two or three times cent per cent)
that he was willing to bind himself for. Six weeks passed before he
achieved that last dime, and he never felt conscience-clear about it
afterward.

He and Alner had to cut the kitchen wood. Each had his daily
allotment, as well as other chores. Yan's was always done faithfully,
but the other evaded his work in every way. He was a notorious little
fop. The paternal poverty did not permit his toilet extravagance to
soar above one paper collar per week, but in his pocket he carried a
piece of ink eraser with which he was careful to keep the paper collar
up to standard. Yan cared nothing about dress--indeed, was inclined to