“In Mannahatta.”

“And then you will rise to the top of the tree!” said his brother half admiringly, half sadly.

“That I may catch a glimpse of you in the top of some other tree,” said Winthrop.

“But this want of money is such a confounded drag!” said Rufus after a few minutes.

“Let it drag you up hill, then.  A loaded arrow flies best against the wind.”

“Winthrop, I wonder what you are made of!” said Rufus stopping short and looking at him and his books.  “The toughest, the sturdiest —­”

But Winthrop lifted up his face and gave his brother one of those smiles, which were somewhat as if the sturdy young ash to which he likened him had of a sudden put forth its flowers and made one forget its strength in its beauty.  Rufus stopped, and smiled a little himself.

“My choice would be engineering,” he said doubtfully.

“Stick to your choice,” said Winthrop.

“That’s a very good business for making money,” Rufus went on, beginning to walk again; —­ “and there is a variety about it I should like.”

“Are you in correspondence with Mr. Haye?”

“No.  Why?”

“You seem to be adopting his end of life.”

“I tell you, Winthrop,” said Rufus stopping short again, “whatever else you may have is of very little consequence if you haven’t money with it!  You may raise your head like Mont Blanc, above the rest of the world; and if you have nothing to shew but your eminence, people will look at you, and go and live somewhere else.”

“You don’t see the snow yet, do you?” said Winthrop, so dryly that Rufus laughed again, and drawing to him his book sat down and left his brother to study in peace.

The peace was not of long lasting, for at the end of half or three quarters of an hour Winthrop had another interruption.  The door opened briskly and there came in a young man, —­ hardly that, —­ a boy, but manly, well grown, fine and fresh featured, all alive in spirits and intellect.  He came in with a rush, acknowledged Rufus’s presence slightly, and drawing a stool close by Winthrop, bent his head in yet closer neighbourhood.  The colloquy which followed was carried on half under breath, on his part, but with great eagerness.

“Governor, I want you to go home with me Christmas.”

“I can’t, Bob.”

“Why?”

Winthrop answered with soft whistling.

“Why?”

“I must work.”

“You can work there.”

“No I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I must work here.”

“You can work afterwards.”

“Yes, I expect to.”

“But Governor, what have you got to keep you?”

“Some old gentlemen who lived in learned times a great while ago, are very pressing in their desires to be acquainted with me —­ one Plato, one Thucydides, and one Mr. Tacitus, for instance.”

“You’ll see enough of them, Governor; —­ you don’t like them better than me, do you?”