the present occasion, he was accompanied by his son, Dirck, who was _my_
friend, and just a year my junior.

"Vell, den,"--the colonel commenced the discourse by saying, as he tapped
the ashes out of his pipe for the second time that evening, having first
taken a draught of hot flip, a beverage much in vogue then, as well as
now,--"vell, den, Evans, vat is your intention as to ter poy? Vill he pe
college-l'arnt, like as his grant-fat'er, or only school-l'arnt, like as
his own fat'er?" The allusion to the grandfather being a pleasantry of the
colonel's, who insisted that all the old-country born were "college-l'arnt"
by instinct.

"To own the truth, 'Brom," my father answered, "this is a point that is not
yet entirely settled, for there are different opinions as to the place to
which he shall be sent, even admitting that he is to be sent at all."

The colonel fastened his full, projecting, blue eyes on my father, in a way
that pretty plainly expressed surprise.

"Vat, den, is dere so many colleges, dat it is hart to choose?" he said.

"There are but two that can be of any use to us, for Cambridge is much too
distant to think of sending the boy so far. Cambridge was in our thoughts
at one time, but that is given up."

"Vhere, den, ist Camprige?" demanded the Dutchman, removing his pipe to ask
so important a question, a ceremony he usually thought unnecessary.

"It is a New England college--near Boston; not half a day's journey
distant, I fancy."