We want you to make a man of yourself.

You must do it for the sake of those dear people who have done so much for you.

The needle points toward the schoolhouse yonder." He went on with his work, and, as I walked away, I understood that the needle he referred to was my conscience.
As I neared the schoolmaster's the same drunken man that I had seen before went zigzagging up the road.
Mr.Hacket stood in his dooryard.
"Who is that ?" I asked.
"Nick Tubbs--the village drunkard and sign o' the times," he answered.
"Does chores at the tavern all day and goes home at night filled with his earnings an' a great sense o' proprietorship.

He is the top flower on the bush." I went about my chores.

There was to be no more wavering in my conduct.
At the supper table Mr.Hacket kept us laughing with songs and jests and stories.