they been at it ever since, and Dick's top boy at school now.
Teacher says she never saw such a boy for readin'. That's what
Perfessor done for us! Well, tell us 'bout yerself, Miss McGill. Is
there any good books we ought to read? I used to pine for some o'
that feller Shakespeare my father used to talk about so much, but
Perfessor always 'lowed it was over my head!"

It gave me quite a thrill to hear all this about Mifflin. I
could readily imagine the masterful little man captivating the
simple-hearted Pratts with his eloquence and earnestness. And the
story of the mill pond had its meaning, too. Little Redbeard was no
mere wandering crank--he was a real man, cool and steady of brain,
with the earmarks of a hero. I felt a sudden gush of warmth as I
recalled his comical ways.

Mrs. Pratt lit a fire in her Franklin stove and I racked my head
wondering how I could tread worthily in the Professor's footsteps.
Finally I fetched the "Jungle Book" from Parnassus and read them
the story of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. There was a long pause when I had
finished.

"Say, Pa," said Dick shyly, "that mongoose was rather like
Professor, wasn't he!"

Plainly the Professor was the traditional hero of this family,
and I began to feel rather like an impostor!

I suppose it was foolish of me, but I had already made up my mind
to push on to Woodbridge that night. It could not be more than four
miles, and the time was not much after eight. I felt a little twinge