"I must confess to it," continued our hostess, smiling in spite of her
real sorrows--sorrows that were revived by thus recalling the events of
her early life--"a young man of Yankee birth came among us as a
schoolmaster, when I was only fifteen. Our people were anxious enough to
have us all taught to read English, for many had found the disadvantage of
being ignorant of the language of their rulers, and of the laws. I was
sent to George Wetmore's school, like most of the other young people of
the neighbourhood, and remained his scholar for three years. If you were
on the hill above the orchard yonder, you might see the school-house at
this moment; for it is only a short walk from our place, and a walk that I
made four times a day for just three years."

"One can see how the land lies now," cried Marble, lighting a segar, for
he thought no apology necessary for smoking under a Dutch roof. "The
master taught his scholar something more than he found in the
spelling-book, or the catechism. We'll take your word about the
school-house, seeing it is out of view."

"It was out of sight, truly, and that may have been the reason my parents
took it so hard when George Wetmore asked their leave to marry me. This
was not done until he had walked home with me, or as near home as the brow
on yon hill, for a whole twelvemonth, and had served a servitude almost as
long, and as patient, as that of Jacob for Rachel."

"Well, mother, how did the old people receive the question? Like
good-natured parents, I hope, for George's sake."

"Rather say like the children of Holland, judging of the children of New
England. They would not hear of it, but wished me to marry my own cousin,