Tom Miller was the minister's son, and there was a party of boys who met
regularly on Parson Miller's cellar-door. Mrs. Miller used herself to
listen to the stories they told, as she sat by the window above them,
though they were unconscious of her presence. They were boys full of life
and ambition, but they were a good set of boys on the whole, and it was
not till lessons were learned and work done that they met thus on the
cellar-door. They belonged to the same class in school, and besides were
"cronies" in all respects. There was Tom Miller, the minister's son, who
intended to be a minister himself, and Jimmy Jackson, the shoemaker's
boy, as full of fun and playfulness as a kitten, and poor Will Sampson,
who stammered, and Harry Wilson, the son of a wealthy banker, and a brave
boy too, and John Harlan, the widow's son, pale and slender, the pet of
all, and great, stout Hans Schlegal, who bade fair to be a great scholar.
These half dozen were nearly always on the cellar-door for half an hour
on Friday evenings, when they happened to have a little more leisure than
on other evenings.
"I say, boys," said Hans, "I've got an idea."
"How strange it must seem to you," said Tom Miller; whereupon they all
laughed, good-natured Hans with the rest.
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