"Yes; I'm twenty-nine now, and I wear a heavier beard." Westover noticed
that Jeff was clean shaved of any sign of an approaching beard, and
artistically he rejoiced in the fellow's young, manly beauty, which was
very regular and sculpturesque. "You're about eighteen?"

"Nearer nineteen."

"Is Jackson as much interested in the other world as he used to be?"

"Spirits?"

"Yes."

"I guess he keeps it up with Mr. Whitwell. He don't say much about it at
home. He keeps all the books, and helps mother run the house. She
couldn't very well get along without him."

"And where do you come in?"

"Well, I look after the transportation," said Jeff, with a nod toward his
horses--"when I'm at home, that is. I've been at the Academy in Lovewell
the last three winters, and that means a good piece of the summer, too,
first and last. But I guess I'll let mother talk to you about that."

"All right," said Westover. "What I don't know about education isn't
worth knowing."

Jeff laughed, and said to the off horse, which seemed to know that he was
meant: "Get up, there!"