under the July sun.

Moreover, he had a growing belief in his power to climb the heights
of success. His favorite books of travel and adventure that he had
devoured in boyhood made almost anything seem possible, and the
various biographies that the village library furnished revealed
grand careers in the face of enormous obstacles. His mind was awaking
like a young giant eager for achievement. Even after the toil of
long, hot days he took up his old school-books in the solitude of
his room, and found that he could review them with the ease with
which he would read a story. "I've got some brains as well as
muscle," he would mutter, exultantly. "The time shall come when
Mildred Jocelyn won't mistake me for Jotham."

Poor Mr. Atwood would have been in consternation had he known
what was passing in his son's mind; and Mildred even less pleased,
for after all it was she who had inspired the thoughts which were
transforming him from a simple country youth into an ambitious,
venturesome man.

He knew of but one way to please her, but he made the most of
that, and worked quietly but assiduously whenever he could without
exciting his father's opposition. After the day's tasks were over
the time was his own. He began by cutting all the weeds and grass
in the door-yard and around the house. Palings that had disappeared
from the fence were replaced, and all were whitewashed.

Mrs. Atwood and Susan were greatly pleased at the changes, but thought
it politic not to say much about them; one evening, however, his
father began to banter him, remarking that Roger must be intending