I was in the shop of my friend on the day of the great snow-storm, when the plan was proposed which he mentions in the beginning of his story, called “Pink and Blue,” printed in this magazine in the month of May, 1861.  Fears were entertained that some of the women might object.  And they did.  My sister Fanny, Mrs. Maylie, said it was like being set in a frame.  Farmer Hill’s wife hoped we shouldn’t tell exactly how much we used to think of them, for “praise to the face was open disgrace.”  But my wife, Mrs. Browne, thought the stories should be made as good as possible, for praise could not hurt them so long as they knew themselves, just what they were.  It was suggested by some one, that, if the married men told how they won their wives, there were a couple of old bachelors belonging to our set who ought to tell how they came to be without, which seemed very fair.

When the lot fell upon me, my wife laughed, and declared that our affairs ran so crooked, she didn’t believe I could tell a straight story.  But Fanny said that would make it seem more like a book; the puzzle to her was what I should call myself, seeing that I was neither one thing nor another.  It was finally agreed, however, that, as I had taught school one winter, and that an important one, I should call mine “The Schoolmaster’s Story.”  The truth is, my own calling would not look well at the head of an article, for I am by profession a loafer.  For this vocation, which was my own deliberate choice, I was well prepared, having graduated, with a moderate degree of honor, from Cambridge College.  I know of no profession requiring for its complete enjoyment a more thorough and varied preparation.

My sister Fanny and I were two poor orphans, brought up, fed, clothed, and loved by our Aunt Huldah.  If it had not been for her, I don’t know what we should have done.  Our Aunt Huldah was a widow and a manager.  Nearly every person has among his acquaintances one individual, usually a female, who is called a good manager.  She knows what is to be done, and who should do it,—­picks out wives for the young men, husbands for the maidens, and attends herself to the matter of bringing them together.  Sometimes these individuals become tyrannical, standing with vials of wrath all ready to be poured forth upon the heads of the unsubmissive, and it must be owned that our aunt was in this not wholly unlike the rest; but then she was so good-natured, so reasonable, that, although the aforesaid vials were often known to be well filled, yet her kindness and good sense always kept the corks in.

I think she took us partly from love, and partly to show how children ought to be managed.  We got on admirably together.  I was by no means a fiery youth.  I was amiable, fond of books, had soft, light hair, fair complexion, a quiet, persevering way, and never ran after the girls.  Taking all these things into consideration, my aunt determined that I should go to college, and become an honor to the family.