With artful suggestion and skilful question and subtle argument, she
stimulated his mind and fancy to lay hold of the truths and beauties
that life and nature offered. But ever the rare old gentlewoman was his
teacher, revealing himself to himself; guiding him to a fuller discovery
and knowledge of his own life and its meaning, which, indeed, is the
true aim and end of all right teaching.

So the days of the autumn passed. The hills changed their robes of
varied green for costumes of brown and gold, with touches here and there
of flaming scarlet and brilliant yellow. And then winter was at hand,
and that momentous evening came when Auntie Sue said to her pupil, after
an hour of most interesting talk, "Brian, why in the world don't you
write a book?"

"'A book'!" exclaimed Brian, in a startled tone.

Judy laughed. "He sure ought ter. Lord knows he talks like one."

"I am in earnest, Brian," said Auntie Sue, her lovely old eyes shining
with enthusiasm and her gentle voice trembling with excitement. "I have
been thinking about it for a long time, now, and, to-night, I just can't
keep it to myself any longer. Why don't you give to the world some of
the thoughts you have been wasting on Judy and me?"

"Hit's sure been a-wastin' of 'em on me," agreed Judy. "'Fore God, I
don't sense what he's a-talkin' 'bout, more'n half the time."

Brian laughed. "Judy is prophetic, Auntie Sue. She voices perfectly the
sentiment of the world toward any book I might write."