It was a rainy day early in September when we stepped off the cars and
went to Anthony's boarding-place in the good old city that held the one
he loved and his fortunes. I was introduced to various friends of his,
and during the first twenty-four hours of my sojourn I was delighted
with all matters that came under my observation. I was especially
pleased with Mr. Allen and his daughter Caroline. But within two days I
saw, or fancied that I saw, a curious scrutiny and reserve in the faces
of some of those with whom we conversed.

I think Anthony was more surprised than I was when he received a note
from one of the trustees intimating that important changes were likely
to be made in reference to the educational methods to be employed in the
school, and that, in view of these changes, it was barely possible that
some new arrangements in regard to teachers might be desired by the
patrons of the institution. The trustee professed to have written this
information in order that "Mr. Brown" might not be taken wholly by
surprise in case any step affecting his position should be found
advisable.

The circumlocution and indefiniteness of this letter led me to infer
that there was something behind it which the writer had not stated. It
soon appeared that my friend agreed with me in this inference. I could
not but smile at the coolness with which he quoted the common phrase to
the effect that there was an African in the fence.

"I fear it is the old story over again," he said; "but I am glad I have
done my duty to myself and to my dear mother, whatever the consequences
may be."

After some discussion, it was agreed that I should call at Mr. Allen's