hunter and trapper escaped the discomfort and shame of jail; though by
his father's sentence he underwent a fortnight's detention on bread
and water in his bedroom.

That was the first fright and humiliation that Master Ned brought on
his people; and he brought so many of these in after years, that the
time came when his parents, and all, were rather glad than sorry each
time he packed off again, and shuddered rather than rejoiced when,
after an absence, he turned up safe and healthy as ever, with his old
hangdog smile beneath which lurked a look half-defiant, half-injured.
As he grew older, and the boy in him made room for the man, there was
less of the smile, less injury, more defiance.

I do not remember how many years it was after Philip's coming to New
York, that our Dutch schoolmaster went the way of all flesh, and there
came in his place, to conduct a school for boys only and in more
advanced studies, a pedagogue from Philadelphia, named Cornelius. He
was of American birth, but of European parentage, whether German or
Dutch I never knew. Certainly he had learning, and much more than was
due alone to his having gone through the college at Princeton in New
Jersey. He was in the early twenties, tall and robust, with a large
round face, and with these peculiarities: that his hair, eyebrows, and
lashes were perfectly white, his eyes of a singularly mild blue, his
skin of a pinkish tint; that he was given to blushing whenever he met
women or strangers, and that he spoke with pedantic preciseness, in a
wondrously low voice. But despite his bashfulness, there was a great
deal in the man, and when an emergency rose he never lacked resource.

He it was to whom my education, and Ned Faringfield's, was entrusted,
while the girls and little Tom still strove with the rudiments in the