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WALTER HARLAND

Or, Memories of the Past

H. S. CASWELL

Left entirely alone on a quiet afternoon, the unbroken stillness which surrounded me, as well as the soft haze which floats upon the atmosphere, in that most delightful of all seasons, the glorious "Indian Summer" of Eastern Canada, caused my thoughts to wander far away into the dreamy regions of the past, and many scenes long past, and almost forgotten, passed in review before my mind's eye on that quiet afternoon. While thus musing the idea occurred to me that there are few individuals, however humble or obscure, whose life-history would prove wholly without interest to others, in the form of a book; and this thought caused me to form the idea of noting down some passages from my own life--as they were on that day recalled to my mind. Like the boy who dreamed a most remarkable dream and, when asked to relate it, "didn't know where to begin," so was I puzzled as to how I should make a beginning for my story. But the incidents of one particular day when I was about thirteen years old were so vividly brought back to my mind, that I have decided upon that day as a starting-point; and now to my story.

"Where alive has that lazy, good-for-nothing boy taken, himself off to now, I wonder, and the weeds I left him to pull in the garden not half done yet; but it's just like him, as soon's my back's turned to skulk off in this way. I'll put a stop to this work one of these days, see if I don't. Its likely he's hiding in some out-of-the-way corner with a book in his hand as usual." These and many other angry words came harshly to my ears, on that June afternoon now so long ago. I was seated in the small room over the kitchen which was appropriated to my use in the dwelling of Farmer Judson, where I was employed as "chore boy," or, in other words, the boy of all work.

"Walter, Walter Harland, come down here this minute, I say."

I started up, trembling with fear, for the angry tones of the farmer made me aware that he had come home in one of his worst tempers, and his best were usually bad enough; and, more than this, I knew myself to be slightly in the fault. Before leaving home that morning Mr. Judson had ordered me to clear the weeds from a certain number of beds in the garden before his return. I worked steadily during the forenoon, and for a portion of the afternoon, when, feeling tired and heated, I stole up to my room, thinking to rest for a short time and then again resume my labors. I was very fond of study, and, as my Algebra lay before me upon the table, I could not resist the temptation to open it, and I soon became so deeply absorbed in the solution of a difficult problem that I heeded not the lapse of time till the harsh voice of my employer fell upon my ear. I had learned by past experience to fear the angry moods of Mr. Judson. In my hurry and confusion I forgot to lay aside my book, and went downstairs with it in my hand. I stood silent before the angry man, and listened to the storm of abuse which he continued to pour upon me, until sheer exhaustion compelled him to stop.

"And now," said he "be off to your work, and don't be seen in the house again till the last weed is pulled from them air beds." This was even better than I had dared to hope, for, on more than one former occasion, I had borne blows from Mr. Judson when his anger was excited. As I turned to leave the room the quick eye of the farmer fell upon the book which before had escaped his notice. Stepping hastily toward me he said:

A few miles from the village of Elmwood lived Mr. Judson, a rich farmer, he might properly be termed rich in this world's goods, for, besides the broad acres which comprised the two farms in one where he resided, he was the owner of several houses in the village, which brought him a handsome annual income. The chief aim of his life appeared to be the acquisition of money, and, when once it came into his possession, it was guarded with miserly care. The very countenance and manner of the Farmer bespoke his nature. Aided by memory, I see him now as I saw him years ago:--he was of medium height, strong and muscular, but thin in flesh. His hair had once been black, but was then sprinkled thickly with gray; he had small piercing, restless black eyes that seemed to look several ways at once. His nose was of the form which I have often heard styled a hawk-bill; and, altogether, there was a sort of dry, hard look about the man which rendered his personal appearance repulsive and disagreeable. His constant care and anxiety was to get the largest possible amount of labor out of those in his employ; consequently, he was always in a hurry himself, and striving to hurry every one else. His farm-laborers used to say that he kept his eyes in such unceasing motion, to see that every thing went right on all sides, that a restless, roving expression of the eyes had become natural to him. Though living only a few miles distant, neither my mother nor myself knew any thing of the character of this man; and when he came to engage me to do "chores and light work" as he termed it, we gladly accepted his offer, as my mother had the idea that residing for a time upon a farm would have a beneficial effect upon my health and constitution. Many wondered when it became known that I had gone to live with Farmer Judson; but each one kept their thoughts to themselves. When I took my place at the Farmer's I soon found that, if my work was light, there was likely to be plenty of it. I did not complain of this, for I expected to work; but what made my position almost unbearable was the constant habit of fault-finding in which my employer indulged. He was dreaded and feared by all under his roof. He was constantly on the watch for waste and expenditure within-doors, and without there could never be enough done to satisfy him; do your best, and he always thought you should have done more. As I have before said, I was very fond of books, and I had counted upon having my evenings at my own disposal that I might still do something in the way of self improvement; but I soon learned that books were quite out of the question in my new home. There was either corn to shell or errands to perform; in short, there was something to keep me busy till nearly bed-time every night. I used sometimes to think the farmer used to study up something to keep me busy on purpose to keep me from study. I believe my greatest fault in his eyes was my love of books. He was entirely without education himself, which, accounted for his narrow and sordid mind; he looked upon any time devoted to books or mental culture as a dead loss.

"The sight of my youngest boy's tears affected me beyond the power of control, and the tears were very bitter which we all shed together, but the stage was fast approaching, and we must control our grief, 'Good bye, mother,' said the boys at last as they left me to take their places in the stage coach, 'Don't fret about us; we will try to do right and remember all you have said to us, and let us hope there are happier days to come, for us all.'

"These were their last words to me, and they were swiftly borne from my sight by the fleet horses of the stage-coach. This was five years ago last October." "But did they never come back," said I, looking in the old woman's face with a feeling of deep pity. "Bless you child, no," said she, "their father won't allow even their names to be spoken in his hearing. When the boys left home, they went to the State of Massachusetts, where they both learned a trade, and are doing well; they often write to me and send me money to buy any little thing I may want. About two years ago in one of their letters they asked me to talk to their father, and try to persuade him to forgive them; they also wished to gain his consent that they might return home for a visit, 'for,' said they, 'since we have grown up to manhood it has caused us much sorrow that we must live estranged from our father. Mother, we have long since cast aside the boyish resentment we may once have cherished, and would be glad to return and inform our father by word that we still feel for him the affection due from children to parents; we would gladly forget the past and be at peace for the future.' I feared to speak of this letter to my husband, but the strong desire to see my dear boys again gave me courage, and one day when he seemed in a better humour than usual I mustered up courage, and told him what the boys had written, but my sakes' alive, Walter, if you'd a seen the storm it raised in our house; it fairly took my breath away, and I didn't know for a while, Walter, if my head was off or on; you may think you have seen Mr. Judson angry, but you never saw him any thing like what he was that day. I must not repeat all he said, to you, but he concluded by saying: 'The boys went away without my consent; you connived to get them off, and if ever you mention their names to me again you'll wish you hadn't, that's all;' and from that day to this their names have never been mentioned between us. They still write often to me and some day I'll show you their letters. I suppose it was wrong for me to speak so freely to you of my husband's failings, but somehow I couldn't help it, and it does me good to talk about my boys. I don't know as Mr. Judson can help his harsh, stern way, for it seems to come natural to him; but I can't help thinking he might govern his temper, if he would only try; as it is I try to do my duty by him, and make the best of what I cannot help; and every day for years I have prayed that a better mind may be given him by Him who governs all things, and that is all I can do."

When I thus returned unexpectedly to my home my mother was at once aware, from my downcast appearance, that something was wrong, and when she questioned me I related the difficulty with Mr. Judson exactly as it took place. My mother listened attentively till I had finished, and then only said, "you are too much excited to talk of the matter at present; after a night's rest you will be better able to talk with more calmness, so we will defer any further conversation upon the subject until to-morrow morning."

Mr. Judson was unable to gainsay one word my mother had said, and to conceal his mortification got into a towering passion, and used some very severe language which deeply wounded my mother's feelings. As he strode angrily from the room he said, "You need not expect anything else but to come to beggary if you keep a great fellow like that lazin' round in idleness, and I, for one, shall not pity you, depend on't." With these words he left the house, closing the door after him with a loud bang. It was indeed a welcome relief when he left us alone. My little sister had crept close to me the moment the angry Farmer entered the room, where she remained: trembling with fear till he was fairly out of hearing, when she exclaimed, "I hope that ugly old man will never come here again. Wasn't you afraid, Mamma?"

"No, dear," replied my mother, with a smile; "and let us hope if ever he does visit us again he will be in a better temper."

I wished at once to set about looking for another situation; but my mother advised me to remain at home and rest for a time. Little Flora was delighted when she found that I was to remain at home, for a time at least.

Not far from our humble dwelling stood the residence of Dr. Gray, the village physician. His only child was a son of nearly the same age as myself, and we had been firm friends from the days of early childhood. When of sufficient age we were sent to the same school, where we occupied the same desk, and often conned our daily lessons from the same book. The uncommon friendship existing between us had often been remarked by the villagers. This intimacy was somewhat singular, as our natures were very dissimilar, it may be this very dissimilarity attracted us the more strongly to each other. From infancy the disposition of Charley Gray was marked by peculiarities which will appear in the course of my story. When at school he made but few friends among his companions; and the few friendships he did form were marred by his exclusive and jealous nature. He possessed very strong feelings, and for a chosen friend his affection was deep and abiding. My own nature was exactly the opposite. I was frank and joyous, and inclined to make friends with all. For all that Charley and I were so intimate, even as boys, his peculiar temperament was often a source of unhappiness to both. Charley was the child of wealthy parents, while I, being poor, was often obliged to attend school dressed in clothing which looked almost shabby beside my well-dressed companions, but with all this I was ever Charley Gray's chosen companion, in fact he seemed to care little for any other companionship, and his parents, who had known both my father and mother long and intimately, were much pleased with his preference for my society, and took much pains to encourage the friendship existing between us. Charley was as much delighted as my sister when I returned home; he had two or three times ventured to visit me at Mr. Judson's, but his visits always made the Farmer angry, and he chanced one day to come into the field when we were unusually busy, and, as a matter of course the Farmer was cross in proportion, and he finally ordered Charley to "clear out," "its bad enough," said he "to get along with one boy, but two is out of the question, and the sooner you make tracks for home the better." Charley was thoroughly frightened, and he followed the Farmer's advice at once by "making tracks" out of the field, and he never attempted to repeat his visit. I returned home in the month of June. Dr. Gray intended sending Charley to a distant school, the coming autumn; and we both keenly felt the coming separation. He was to be absent a year before visiting his home, and that time seemed an age to our boyish minds. The long midsummer vacation soon arrived, and now, memory often turns fondly to that happy period. My companion and I certainly made the most of the time allowed before the coming separation.

Together we visited all our favorite haunts, we angled for fish, we roamed over the fields and through the woods in the vicinity of Elmwood, and no day seemed long enough for our varied amusements. I often wished to invite other of our companions to join our sports, but somehow or other, if this was the case, Charley's enjoyment at once fled. When I would mention some of our schoolmates, with a view to inviting them to accompany us on some excursion of pleasure, a cloud would instantly come over Charley's countenance, and he would say in a petulant tone: "What do you want with them, we can surely enjoy ourselves without their company," and this reply would at once remind me of his exclusive and peculiar temperament, and to please him I would say no more about it. But for this one fault of my companion's, and a fault it certainly was, I believe had I had a brother, I could have loved him no better than I loved Charley Gray. Previous to my mother's marriage her home had been in Western Canada; her father died while she was quite a young girl, but her mother, now far advanced in years, still lived in the old home, some fifty miles from the city of Hamilton. The affairs of the farm and household were managed by a son and daughter who had never married, and still resided in their paternal home. My mother was the youngest in the family, and had been the pet of the household during her childhood and early youth; she was many years younger than either her brother or sister, and they had exercised a watchful and loving care over their pet sister till the period of her marriage and removal to Eastern Canada. Her brother and sister seldom left their own home, owing to their care of their aged mother, and for some years past my mother's circumstances had not allowed her to visit her early home; and, amid the cares of life, letters passed less and less frequently between them, till they came to be like "Angels' visits," few and far between. My mother was equally pleased and surprised, a few weeks after I returned home, by receiving a kind letter from her brother Nathan. Like all his letters it contained but few words, but they were dictated by a kind heart. The most important words which the letter contained were these: "Your boy Walter needs more schooling before he goes out into the world, send him to me and he shall have it. If his disposition is anything like his mother's at his age I know we shall get along famously together. I will board and clothe him for two years; he shall attend the best schools in the place, I promise nothing further, only then, when the boy leaves me, he shall have all he deserves, if it should be only a cuff on the ear. In case you should find any difficulty in defraying his expenses, I enclose money sufficient for that purpose. I know not the reason, but I feel a strong desire to see your boy, and find out what he is made of."

My mother was alone when she received this letter; she read it again and again, and with each perusal her heart warmed toward the brother whom she had not seen for so many years. "But," thought she, "whatever my own wishes may be in the matter, Walter must decide for himself. I should consult his feelings upon a matter which concerns him so deeply." When I came home that evening my mother gave me Uncle Nathan's letter, and with silent amusement watched my face grow sober as I read it. She really knew this kind-hearted brother--I did not, and that made all the difference in the world. I suppose my grave countenance, as I perused the letter, informed my mother that a second Farmer Judson was rising before my mental vision. When I had finished, I looked up, and, with an anxious voice, said:

"Tell me, mother, is Uncle Nathan as gruff and crusty as his letter?"

"My son," replied she, "your uncle's manner may seem somewhat short and crusty to one not acquainted with him; but beneath this rough exterior, he has a very kind heart. I am well aware that he makes this offer with sincerity, and that he has your interest at heart. You certainly need more education to fit you for the duties of life, and now a way is open for you to obtain it. I can hardly bear the thought of your going so far from home, and yet I need not expect you always to remain under my own roof. It is my duty to submit to a temporary separation, if that separation is for your own interest. I will not advise you too strongly, for I consider you have a right to a voice in the matter as well as myself. Should you decide to go, where my advice and influence cannot reach you, I trust you will retain the good principles I have endeavoured to inculcate; you are my only son and should you allow yourself to be led into evil ways, it would be the heaviest trial I have ever known, and my sorrows have been neither few nor light." I had such full confidence in the opinions of my mother, that I allowed her to write to uncle Nathan accepting, for me, his generous offer. Charley Gray was entirely cast down when he learned that I was to go so far away. "It's too bad," said he, "that they must send you away to an old Uncle, who very likely is cross as a bear, and that before the holidays are over; and then in the fall I'm to be sent off to school, nobody knows where, so I suppose we may as well call our good times ended." As Charley said this his lip quivered and the un-shed tear glistened in his fine dark eyes. I was the only companion with whom he was intimate, and the swiftly coming separation grieved him deeply. I tried to cheer him up, but when any thing chanced to cross the wishes of Charley he was prone to look upon the dark side of every thing, and I fear there are many older and wiser than Charley Gray who yield to the same failing.

After I had consented to go to Uncle Nathan, and a letter had been written informing him of my decision, I began to feel many misgivings. From the style of his letter I got the idea that I should find him like Farmer Judson; and the very thought caused me to shudder with a vague feeling of terror. My mother told me again and again how kind my relative would be to me, and I tried hard to believe her; but with all this my mind was haunted with many fears regarding the future. My mother strove to send me from home well supplied with clothing, that I might prove no immediate expense to my uncle, and the little money she had laid by, with which to replenish her own and little Flora's wardrobe, was applied cheerfully to meet my more immediate wants. Young as I was this circumstance fretted and annoyed me. I remember saying one day to my mother, in a vexed impatient tone, "it seems too bad that we should be so poor. Some of my companions who have rich parents, spend more money every year upon toys and candy than would buy me a whole new suit of clothes, and now to obtain a few new articles of clothing for me you and my little sister must do without what you really need; if the dispensing of money were left in my hands, I would make every one rich alike, and then no one should be ashamed of their poverty as I have often been, when among the rich boys of the village." "Be ashamed of nothing but doing wrong," replied my mother, "and you had best leave the dispensation of wealth or poverty to the One whose right it is, for, be assured, He knows best what is for our good; I had much rather see you grow up a good man than a rich one. If your life is spared, and you prove to be a useful and honorable man, people will never inquire whether your boyhood was passed amid wealth or poverty." I was then in too discontented a mood to profit by my mother's words, but many times in after years were they recalled forcibly to my mind. Time passed on till the last night arrived, which I was to spend at home for an indefinite period. Charley Gray obtained permission to spend this last night with me, and we lay awake for hours talking over our numerous plans for the future in true school-boy fashion. Many an air-castle did we rear that night which the lapse of years have laid in the dust. In our boyish plans of future greatness, I was not exactly sure what I was to be, only I was to be a wonderfully great man of some kind, while Charley was, of course, to become a very eminent physician, such as should not be found upon any past record; and we talked, too, of the wonder we should excite among our old friends when we might chance to revisit the scenes of our early home. We even spoke of driving past the farm of Mr. Judson in a fine carriage drawn by a pair of beautiful bay horses; but with all our lively talk poor Charley was sadly out of spirits. His old bosom foe was at work; he feared that among new companions I might meet with some one who would supplant him in my affections. To one of my nature, this jealous exclusive disposition was something incomprehensible; later in life I learned to pity him for a defect of character, which in his case was hereditary, and which he could no more help than the drawing of his life-breath. I was to leave Elmwood by the early morning train so we were up betimes; but, early as it was, we found my mother already up and breakfast awaiting us. The railway station was a little beyond the village, and more than a mile from our dwelling. Dr. Gray sent over the horse and carriage very early, and Charley, with my mother and Flora, was to accompany me to the depot. The morning air was fresh and invigorating, and under other circumstances we should highly have enjoyed the drive, as it was that morning, we were rather a sad and silent party. When we arrived at the station I moved rapidly about and looked after my luggage with far more care than was necessary, in order to conceal the sorrow I felt at leaving home; and I was heartily glad to hear the whistle which announced the approaching train, that the parting might be the sooner over. During the few moments we stood upon the platform awaiting the arrival of the train Charley stood by with the most solemn face imaginable. His countenance was always remarkably expressive of either joy or sorrow, and at this time his expression was certainly not one of joy. Many a time since, have I smiled as memory suddenly recalled the woe-begone face of Charley Gray, as I left him that morning. In order to make him laugh I enquired if he could not imagine the look of astonishment with which Farmer Judson would regard us when we should drive past his farm in our fine carriage, which we had possessed the night before. Any one acquainted with Mr. Judson could not have helped laughing at the idea; Charley did laugh but there were tears in his eyes. As the train rapidly neared the station he suddenly extended his hand to me for a last good-bye, and hurried swiftly from the spot, he could not bear to witness my parting with my mother and sister which was yet to come. My mother had borne up until now, but when the time came that I must indeed go, her tears could no longer be kept back. I kissed Flora good-bye, and last of all turned to my mother. She imprinted a parting kiss upon my brow, and as she held my hand with a long, lingering pressure, said in a choking voice, "Remember my counsels, respect yourself, and others will respect you, and may God bless and preserve you from evil!"

I was deeply moved, but to spare my mother's feelings I kept back my tears. The conductor's loud voice was heard calling "All aboard." I hastily entered the car, and taking my seat, the tears I had so long repressed now flowed freely, till some of my fellow-passengers began to question me, when I became ashamed of my weakness. To the many pitying enquiries I replied that I was going a long distance from home and was grieved at parting with my friends.

"Chare up, me man," said a good-natured Irishman who happened to be seated near me. "I was jist yer size when I lift me father and mother in ould Ireland, an' come over to Ameriky."

This remark drew a burst of laughter from several of the passengers, and, though the tears were not yet dry upon my cheek, I could not help joining in the laugh. The man was not in the least disturbed by the merriment of the others, but again turning to me continued:

"As I was a tellin' ye, an older brother an' mesilf crossed the sea to Ameriky, an' the first year we arned money enough to fetch over the ould folks, and we are now livin' altogether agin, in the city uv Montreal, where we have a nate little home uv our own as your two eyes could light upon." The friendly talk of the Irishman both amused and cheered me. How true it is that kind and sympathizing words never fail to cheer the desponding heart.

We had written to Uncle Nathan, informing him of the day on which he might expect my arrival; and at the time appointed he drove over to Fulton, the small village two miles from his farm, where was the railway-station. As I stepped from the car I eagerly scanned each face among the crowd to see if I could find any one whose appearance answered to my ideas of Uncle Nathan, but for some time I could see no one whom I could suppose to be my unknown relative. I at length spied a middle-aged gentleman walking backward and forward in a leisurely manner, upon the platform, whom I thought might possibly be my uncle, and, as the crowd had mostly dispersed, I mustered up courage, and in a low voice accosted him with the question. "Please Sir are you my uncle Nathan?" "Your uncle who?" said the old man, as he elevated his eyebrows and regarded me with a broad stare of astonishment. "No I'm not your Uncle, nor nobody's else that I know of," said he, in a sharp crusty voice, then, giving a second look at my downcast face, he seemed suddenly to recollect himself, and said in a much softer tone: "If its Nathan Adams you mean he's just driven round to the other door. Be you a friend of his'n." "Yes Sir," answered I, as I hurried away to the "other door" pointed out by the stranger. From the ideas I had formed of my uncle I was unprepared to meet the kind, hearty looking man whose sunburned face beamed with a smile of welcome, when his eye rested upon me, as I walked with a timid, hesitating manner toward him. He at once held out his hand, saying, "I don't need to ask if you are my nephew Walter, for if I'd a met you most anywhere I should have known you were Ellen Adams' son; just the same dark eyes and happy smile which made your mother such a beauty at your age, for your mother was handsome if she was my sister; but I suppose, like all the rest of us she's beginnin' to grow old and careworn by this time, 'tis the way of the world, you know, boy, we can't always keep young, do our best. Its amazin' how time does fly, it only seems like yesterday since your mother trudged to school over this very road, with her books and dinner-basket on her arm; and now here's you, her son, a great stout boy that will soon be as tall as your old Uncle Nathan. It really does beat all; but I forget that, while I am moralizin' like on the flight of time, you must be famishin' with hunger, to say nothin' of your bein' tired most to death with your long ride in the cars; give me a seat in my wagon behind old Dobbin, with a good whip in my hand, and those who like the cars better may have them for all me. Come right along with me, my boy, and point out your luggage and we'll be off to my farm in no time." Before I reached my new home I had quite got rid of my fears of finding a second Farmer Judson in the person of my Uncle Nathan. As we drove through the village of Fulton, my Uncle directed my attention to a large and tasteful building standing in an open green, on a slightly elevated portion of ground. I said the building stood in an open space, but omitted to mention the thick shade trees which stood in regular rows between the building, and the long street which ran the entire length of the village.

"That," said my Uncle, with no little pride in his voice, "is Fulton Academy, where I mean to send you to school; and I hope when you leave it, you will be a wiser boy than you are now." The homeward drive after leaving the village lay past finely cultivated farms, with their waving fields of ripe grain and beautiful orchards loaded with ripe fruit, which delighted the eye of the passer-by; but the most important object was the Academy, where I hoped to acquire the knowledge necessary to fit me for the duties of life. During the year I lived with Mr. Judson I many a time thought how I should enjoy my books did my circumstances allow me to do so, and now all this was within my reach. As these thoughts passed rapidly through my mind, I looked up in the kind face of my relative and impelled by a sudden impulse, I seized his hand and, pressing it to my lips, said, "if I am a good boy and do my best to please, you will love me a little, won't you, Uncle Nathan?" "Bless your heart, child," replied my Uncle, "who on earth could help loving you? Yes, Walter, you may be sure I shall love the son of my favorite sister, Ellen; and, were it not so, I think I should soon love you for yourself alone, for, if I am any judge of faces, you are better than the general run of boys of your age."

Can this, thought I, be the man who wrote that short, crusty letter. I must confess, that I was not favorably impressed by the external appearance of the home I was approaching. I had expected to see a handsome tasty building, painted white perhaps; with green blinds, like those we had passed on the way from the village; and when Uncle Nathan said "here we are, Walter, most at home," and I raised my eyes to gain a view of the homestead, the faded dingy appearance of the house and its surroundings struck me as unpleasant. It was a large old-fashioned square farm-house, which had once boasted a coat of red paint, but the winds and rains of many years had sadly marred its beauty, so much so that, but for the patches of dull red still visible beneath the eaves and round the windows, one would have been loth to believe the old house had all been of a deep red. The high road lay between the house and the long stretch of meadow-land which separated it from the river. The picket fence in front of the dwelling was in rather a dilapidated condition, and the gate, being minus a hinge, hung awry. Many tall sunflowers stood in the narrow strip of ground between the front fence and the house, and they were about all I could see in the way of ornament. But with this rather shabby look there was after all something inviting and attractive about the place, something that suggested the idea of quiet and repose and cozy comfort. Reader, have you never seen a home like Uncle Nathan's? I have seen many of them. Little did I then think how, in course of time, I should learn to love that old house and its inmates. A little before we reached home Uncle Nathan addressed me in a confidential voice, saying:

Before a week had passed away I made up my mind that I might have found a worse home than the old farm-house at Uncle Nathan's. Aunt Lucinda was not positively unkind to me, but I could not help a feeling of fear when in her presence, for she evidently regarded my every movement with a watchful eye, and looked upon my presence in the family as an infliction that must be borne; but with all this she was very careful for my comfort, and treated me in every respect as one of the family. Few would, at first sight, receive a favourable impression of my aunt. During the first few days of my residence in the family I used often to wonder to myself how two sisters could be so dissimilar in every way as were my mother and Aunt Lucinda. My mother's manner was very gentle, and her speech was mild and pleasant, while my Aunt had a sharp, quick manner of speech, and took the liberty upon all occasions of speaking her mind plainly. She was however a very clever house-keeper, always busy, and a large amount of work went every day through her hands. From the first moment I saw her I felt strongly attached to my venerable grandmother, who treated me with the greatest kindness and seemed never so happy as when, seated by her side, I read aloud to her from the large Bible which lay constantly within her reach. The personal appearance of Uncle Nathan was very pleasing; there was a mild good-humoured expression upon his countenance which at once told you he was not one at all inclined to fret or borrow trouble. This disposition to take the world easy often irritated my aunt, and she sometimes went so far as to say, "if she didn't stir up Nathan now and then, every thing would go to wreck and ruin about the place." Mindful of Uncle Nathan's advice I did my best to please my aunt, and endeavoured to win her affection by many little offices of kindness, as often as I had opportunity, but for some time my attempts to gain her goodwill produced but little effect. When I had been a few days an inmate with the family, I became an unwilling listener to a conversation which troubled me much at the time, although I have often since smiled at the recollection of it. I happened one day to be employed in the back kitchen, or what they termed the sink-room, and I soon became aware that I was the subject of conversation by the family in the room adjoining. "Now if that boy ain't the most splendid reader I ever did hear," said my kind old grandmother, "and I think, takin' all things into consideration it's a good thing Nathan sent for him; what do you say Lucinda?" "What I say is this," replied my aunt, "it don't do to judge folks, specially boys, by first appearances, and I shouldn't wonder a mite, for all his smooth ways and fine readin' if the fellow turns out a regular limb for mischief before he's been here a fortnight. I think Nathan Adams must have been out of his senses when he went and fetched a boy here to tear about and make a complete bedlam of the house. I had to work hard enough before, but with a boy of that age round the house to cut up capers and raise Cain generally, I don't know how we're to live at all." "Well, Lucinda," replied Grandma, "Nathan's been a good dutiful boy to me," "and if he took a notion to bring Ellen's boy here, I don't see as you ought to say a word against it. What if you'd a married Joshua Blake as you expected to, and he'd a died and left you with a boy to bring up and school, I guess you'd a been glad if Nathan or somebody else had offered to take him off your hands for a while." This reply from her mother, at once silenced Aunt Lucinda, and there was no more said upon the subject.

Weeks and days succeeded each other in rapid succession, till mellow autumn with its many glories was upon the earth. It had been a very busy season, and long since Uncle Nathan's capacious barns had been filled to overflowing with their treasures of fragrant hay and golden grain. The corn-house was filled with its yellow harvest, and the potatoes were heaped high in the cellar. Each different sort had its separate bin, and my memory is not sufficiently retentive to mention the numerous kinds of potatoes by their proper name which I that autumn assisted in stowing away in the old cellar; and potatoes were not the only good things to be found there when the harvest was completed. The apples were of almost as many different sorts as the potatoes, and their flavor was very tempting to the fruit-loving appetite, and their red cheeks were just discernible by the dim light, which came faintly through the narrow cellar-windows. Large quantities of almost every species of garden vegetable were stowed away, each in their respective place. The cattle and sheep had been driven from the far-off pastures to enjoy for a season the "fall-feed," of the meadows. The bright-hued autumn leaves were cast to the ground by every breeze which floated by; the migratory birds were beginning their flight southward, while on every hand were visible indications of the approach of winter. I had done my best during the busy season to render myself useful, and by this time had become quite an important member of the household, so much so that I one day heard uncle Nathan wonder "how he ever got along without me." He had often hired boys before, but a hired boy who merely works for wages is often very different from one whose services are prompted by affection and gratitude. Aunt Lucinda still seemed rather to distrust me and, although she said nothing, I was too sharp-sighted to be ignorant of the scrutinizing watch she maintained over my conduct. I did not, as many boys of my age would have done, allow myself to cherish any resentment toward my aunt, on the contrary I did every thing in my power to gain her goodwill; I never allowed the water-pails to become empty; I split the kindlings for the morning fire; and, by the time I had been a few weeks in the family, my busy aunt found herself freed from many household tasks to which she had been accustomed for years, and, more than this, I invariably treated her with the utmost kindness and respect. It happened one evening that my aunt was suffering from one of the severe headaches to which she was often subject. After supper she was almost incapable of any exertion whatever. When it was nearly dark she suddenly remembered that the large weekly wash had not been brought in from the clothes' yard, and there was every appearance of approaching rain. "I don't know," said she in a desponding voice; "what will become of the clothes, but if they are all spoiled I can't bring them in, for my head aches as though it would split." It was with fear and trembling that I came forward, and offered to get the clothes-basket and bring in the clothes. She looked at me with astonishment, saying, "a pretty sight the clothes will be by the time you bring them in, and then the lines will be broken into fifty pieces; no, no, let them hang and take their chance in the rain; I can't any more than have to wash them all over again." "Please let me go, aunty," said I, "I will handle the clothes very carefully, and I certainly will not break the lines." Touched in spite of herself by my desire to assist her she gave me the basket, saying, "now do pray be careful and not destroy every thing you put your hands on," and again seated herself with a troubled countenance to await my return. She was often inclined to think that nothing could be done properly about the house which was not performed by her own hands. Her face did brighten a little when I appeared after a short time at the kitchen door, bearing the well-filled basket with its snow-white contents in a most wonderful state of preservation. It was not her habit to praise any one to their face, but, when I had left the room, she turned to Uncle Nathan and said "I do believe after all there is some good in that boy. I am afraid I have been a little too hard with him, but I've made up my mind if he behaves as well as he's done so far, that he shall have a friend in his Aunt Lucinda; he's the first boy that's ever been about the house that I could endure at all, and I do believe he means well, and does his best to please us, and that's more than can be said of most boys."

The busy season was over at last, and the harvest all gathered in; on the following Monday I was to enter as a pupil at Fulton Academy. I had long anxiously looked forward to this day, and now that it was so near, I grew restless with expectation. I spent the Saturday afternoon roaming among the old woods which skirted the farm on one side, and seated by turns at the roots of some of the fine old trees, whose covering of many-hued leaves had long since fallen to the ground, my thoughts wove themselves into many bright forms, and many a purpose for good was matured in my mind. I dreamed of a time when, by the unaided exertions of manhood I would purchase ease and relaxation for my patient mother and loving sister, and next to those of my own household I breathed a wish for the happiness of the loved companion of my childhood Charley Gray.

The important day arrived when I was to begin school-life at the Village Academy, the day I had so long looked forward to with pleasant anticipations. The teacher who had taught the Fulton Academy for several years was a gentleman of high culture, and of sound judgment. Teaching with him was a loved life-work. He had been left an orphan at an early age, and had, by his own exertions, obtained the education which enabled him to occupy a position of influence and respectability, consequently, he was all the better able to sympathize and assist studious pupils who laboured against many discouragements to obtain an education. Instead of regarding the pupils under his charge as only objects for correction and reproof, he treated them as reasonable beings, and laboured diligently to develop their better natures, as well as their intellectual powers. When I entered the school-room, and Mr. Oswald made some enquiries regarding my studies, and other matters, I looked in his clear honest, but withal searching eyes, and felt certain I had found a friend in my teacher. My ideas at the time, of my new home as well as my school, will I presume be best expressed by transcribing the copy of a letter, written to Charley Gray about this time. I lately found it among, some old papers. It reads thus:

Fulton, Oct. 25th, 18--

Dear Charley,

As I cannot possibly see you, I will do the next best by writing to you in answer to your kind and very welcome letter, which came to hand two days since. I have so much to tell you that I hardly know where to begin; but if I intend to finish I must make a beginning in some way. I will first endeavour to tell you something about my home. You know I feared Uncle Nathan might be like Farmer Judson; but never were two more unlike; he never scolds or frets, and, although he is not a great talker, somehow or other when he does talk I always like to listen to what he says. I am sure you would like Uncle Nathan, and if you could pay a visit to his farm he would not drive you off as Mr. Judson did. My grandma and aunt live with my uncle. Grandma is a very old woman, but she looks happy and contented as she sits day after day in her large arm-chair, dividing her time between her knitting work and reading in the large-print Bible which always lies close to her hand; sometimes she says it tries her eyes to read, and then I wish you could see how pleased she seems when I offer to read to her.

Your sincere Friend,

WALTER HARLAND.

P.S. Write soon, and don't forget to write a long letter.

W.H.

In uncle Nathan's household a "bee" for the paring of apples had been the annual custom from time immemorial; and in rural districts, the merry-makings of any kind are a very different affair from the social gatherings in a large city; in the country a social gathering has about it a genuine heartiness of enjoyment, unknown in the city drawing-rooms of wealth and fashion. In the country you come nearer to nature, as it were, untrammelled by the customs and usages of fashionable society. Uncle Nathan was just the one to get up a social gathering of this kind, and enjoy it too; if his hair was growing white, the flowers of social feeling still bloomed in his heart; and the yearly apple-paring bee was never omitted in the household. He used to say "the apple pies would not taste half so good in winter if the apples were not pared by the hands of the merry company who assembled upon the occasion."

The sun rose bright and clear on the sixth of October; this was an important day at the old homestead, for on the next evening was to be held this annual social gathering. They did not often invite company, and, upon the rare occasions when they did so, Aunt Lucinda made extensive preparations for their entertainment. Some of her neighbours took the liberty of saying she did this partly to show off her unequalled cookery and housekeeping, but most likely these sayings were only maliciously called forth by her superior attainments in this way. Be this as it might, she was certainly very busy on this particular day. The capacious brick oven was heated no less than four times during the day, and the savory odor from the numerous dishes taken therefrom bespoke a plentiful repast for the apple-parers. I was kept from school that day to take part in the grand preparations going forward. Aunt made me quite happy that morning by saying "I was a right smart handy boy, and could help along amazingly" if I would stay from school. I would have done much more than this for the few words of commendation bestowed upon me by my aunt, who was usually so hard to please. Neat as was her daily household arrangements, on this day every corner of the old house passed under a most searching review; and dust before unnoticed was brought to light in a most alarming manner, and as my aunt passed through the house on her tour of investigation, the very walls, with their closets and three-cornered cupboards, seemed to shrink back with apprehension, not knowing where she might make the next discovery of hidden dust or litter. I was so much elated by her encouraging words in the morning that I set to work with a right good will; but before the preparations were all completed I found that an apple-paring bee at Uncle Nathan's was no trivial matter, and involved a large amount of labour. The brass knobs on all the doors, as well as the large brass andirons in the parlor, had to be polished till they shone like burnished gold and this with other countless tasks all fell on me; but the longest and most laborious day comes to a close, and so did this sixth of October, and tired enough were we all long before night came. Poor old grandma really entertained the idea that she was of much assistance, and remained up for an hour or so beyond her usual time of retiring, "to help things along," as she said. With all my aunts sharp, crusty ways, one could not but respect her, when they noticed with what forbearance she treated every whim and fancy of her aged mother, and upon this occasion when she advised the old lady to retire to rest, and she replied, "that she must sit up to hurry things along," she did not press the matter but allowed her to take her own way. The important evening arrived, and with it a merry company of both old and young who filled the large kitchen and dining-room to overflowing. All were in the best of spirits, and working and talking progressed about equally. Each one was furnished with a knife sharpened for the purpose, and a basket of apples allotted to every two or three. Without in the least interrupting the flow of laughter and lively conversation the baskets grew empty surprisingly fast, but were immediately replenished from the well-stored cellar, till some of the younger portion of the company with an eye to the supper, and fun in the prospective, began to wonder if the work would never be done. Aunt Lucinda, assisted by some of the company, was laying out the supper in the wide hall ready to be brought into the dining-room, directly work was over. Grandma had her arm-chair removed into the circle of the workers, and actually pared a dozen apples in the course of the evening.

It pleased her to be there and enjoy the scene of innocent mirth, and that was enough. As for Uncle Nathan he was here and there and everywhere else, it seemed almost at one time, replenishing the baskets, sharpening the edge of a knife, and diffusing mirth and good humour through the whole company. Mr. Oswald, the teacher, was invited, bringing with him his wife and Rose. When I first mentioned giving the Oswalds an invitation Uncle Nathan advised me to give the Assistant one also; I was not too well pleased at this, for Mr. Lawrence was far from being a favorite with me, and, like most boys, I did not always pause to consider what was right; but Aunt Lucinda, who was anxious that every thing should be conducted after the most approved style, declared if the Oswalds were invited Mr. Lawrence should be favoured also with an invitation, saying, if any of the youths should make fun of his red hair, or cut up any capers with him she'd make them sorry for their fun. "I know," said Uncle Nathan, with a sly look, "what makes Lucinda kinda' stand up for Mr. Lawrence, and be so watchful over his red head; every one who knew Joshua Blake will remember that he had red hair. I thought Lucinda had forgotten the fellow by this time, but it seems I was mistaken after all." "Who was Joshua Blake?" I ventured to enquire. "If you don't be off to your work this minnit," said Aunt Lucinda, "I'll let you know who Joshua Blake was, in a way that you won't ask again, I'll be bound." I thought it unwise to push my inquiries further, in fact I was glad to beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen; years after I heard the story of Joshua Blake from Aunt Lucinda's own lips.

While we have been indulging in this digression, work has progressed steadily at Uncle Nathan's, till the last basket of apples was pared, and deposited in the back-kitchen. Then the rooms were hastily cleared up and the long supper-table set out. I will not attempt a description of that supper, and will only say that it met all my ideas of nicety, added to profusion and plenty. The girls lent a willing hand in assisting to clear away the tables after the supper was over; and then the fun begun in right good earnest. Soon there was a call among the younger part of the company for "Blind Mans' Buff." Grandma, who from her quiet corner watched the scene of mirth with as much enjoyment as the youngest present, was disposed to dispute the name, saying that in her young days the game was known by the name of "Blind Harry," and when the point was finally settled the game began, and was for some time continued with unabated enjoyment. Aunt Lucinda even allowed herself to be blinded and a very efficient blind woman did she prove, as many of the youngsters could testify who endeavoured to escape from her vigorous grasp. When the company became tired of this lively, but somewhat laborious amusement it was quickly succeeded by others of an equally lively character, which was continued for some two or three hours, and it was not till the tall clock in the corner of the kitchen tolled the hour of one that a move was made for the company to break up; and after a somewhat lengthy search in the hall for countless shawls, veils, gloves, and wrappers, each one was at last fortunate enough to find up their own, and the merry company took their respective ways home beneath the silver light of the full moon; and, half an hour later, sleep had settled over the inmates of the old farm-house. Afterwards in giving a description of the apple-paring bee to my mother, I allowed that it surpassed in enjoyment any thing in which I had ever before participated.

The winter glided quietly, and withal pleasantly, away at Uncle Nathan's. To me it was a very busy season, being anxious to render myself helpful to my kind relatives, who were doing so much for me. It was some time before I could entirely overcome the feeling of distrust and suspicion with which Aunt Lucinda was inclined to regard me; her daily care for my comfort, and many real acts of kindness drew my naturally affectionate heart toward her, and it grieved me much to fear that she felt for me no affection; but Aunt Lucinda was not at all demonstrative, and seldom gave expression to her real feelings, besides this she had told Uncle Nathan at the first, she was sure I would turn out a bad boy, and, like all positive people, she disliked to acknowledge herself in the wrong. The reader is not to suppose that I consider myself as having been any thing like perfect at the time of which I am speaking; on the contrary, I had my full share of the failing and short-comings common to my age, and often my own temper would rise when Aunt Lucinda found fault with me, or in some other way manifested a feeling of dislike, and the bitter retort would rise to my lips; but I believe I can say with truth that I never gave utterance to a disrespectful word. My mother's counsel to me before leaving home, recurring to my mind, often prevented the impatient and irritable thought from finding expression in words; and before the winter was over, I found, what every one has found who tried the experiment, that there is scarcely a nature so cold and unfeeling as to withstand the charm of continued kindness. The last remaining feeling of animosity on the part of my aunt died out when my mother sent me a letter containing a small sum of pocket-money, and, without saying a word of my intention to any one, I expended this money in the purchase of a brooch, as a present to my aunt. The article was neither large nor showy, but was uncommonly neat and tasteful. It was an emerald in a setting of fine gold, and of considerable value; in fact, to buy it I was obliged to empty my purse of the last cent it contained. When, with a diffident manner, I presented the gift, asking my aunt to accept it for a keepsake, as well as a token of my gratitude for her kindness, a truly happy expression came over her usually rather stern countenance. "It was not," she said, "the value of the gift alone which pleased her, but it made her happy to know that I had sacrificed so much to make her a present; but" said she "I'll take good care that you will be no loser by remembering your Aunt Lucinda."

I felt more than paid for the sacrifice I had made to give pleasure to another; I was trying to learn the useful lesson of setting aside self that I might add to the happiness of others, especially of the kind friend, beneath whose roof I dwelt. It was my invariable custom on my way to school to call each morning for Willie and Rose Oswald. We became great friends, and many evenings did I carry over my books, that we might together study the lesson for the morning's recitation; and when Uncle Nathan rallied me upon the subject, I replied, with much dignity, that I preferred studying with Willie and Rose, on account of Mr. Oswald being at hand to assist us. "It's all right, Walter" he would reply, "you and little Rose will make a handsome couple ten years from now, and I only hope I may live to see the day, for it won't do to have too many old bachelors in the family", and, with a roguish look at Aunt Lucinda, "to say nothing of old maids." My Aunt would snappishly tell him to "let the boy alone, and not be always teasing him," adding that at his time of life it ill became him to talk such nonsense; and, if Uncle Nathan wished to make her particularly angry he would reply, "if I am old, you are certainly two years older," and my aunt, who made it a point always to have the last word would say, as a closing argument, she hoped her years had taught her a little wisdom at any rate, but as for him he seemed to grow more foolish and light-minded with each year that was added to his age. I presume if any one else had dared to make this remark of Uncle Nathan they would have learned that he had an able defender in the person of his sister.

The winter passed away, till March came in with its piercing winds; and to me, if it had been a busy winter, it had also been a very happy one. With my studies, and companions at my labours at home, time passed swiftly, and I received frequent letters from my mother and sister, and also from Charley Gray. But this pleasant state of things was destined to continue but a short time, a dark cloud was even then hovering over me, which was soon to burst in terror over my head. Before the winter was over many of the boys at school began among themselves to accuse our teacher of an unjust partiality toward me, whether with or without cause I am unable to say. Mr. Oswald was a very estimable man, but he had very strong feelings, and was inclined to form his opinion of one at first sight; if that opinion chanced to be favourable, you were all right; if the reverse, he sometimes failed to give one credit for whatever of good there might be in them. I charge it to no superior merit in myself, but I believe from the very first I was a favourite with our teacher. I studied hard, and endeavoured to give no trouble by misconduct, though I doubtless had my faults as well as others. It may be that Mr. Oswald sometimes allowed his feelings to exhibit themselves more than was exactly wise. I have often heard him say that strong likes and equally strong dislikes were natural defects in his own character, against which he was obliged to exercise a continual watchfulness.

The idea once formed, that Mr. Oswald favoured me above others, gained ground amazingly fast. Each boy was on the watch, and the smallest action was noticed and repeated from one to another in an exaggerated form, till I became an object of bitter dislike to more than half the school. Many underhand attempts were made by some of my companions to hurt me in the good opinion of my teacher; but he possessed too much penetration and discernment to be easily misled, and for some time all attempts to injure me came back on themselves; but the feeling of enmity among the boys gained strength with each passing day. One day, about the middle of the forenoon, a gentleman who was owing Mr. Oswald money, called and gave him a ten-dollar bill. Mr. Oswald stepped to the door, where he received the money, and when he returned to the school-room, being busily engaged with a class, instead of placing the bill in his pocket-book lifted the cover of his desk and deposited it there; thinking to remove it before leaving the room, at noon. He forgot to do so, and went home to dinner leaving the money in his desk, without even locking it. The circumstance recurred to his mind soon after the school was called to order in the afternoon; and, going at once to his desk, could hardly credit his own eyesight when he perceived that the bill was gone; he examined all the papers in the desk, as well as every crevice and corner, but no bill could be found; and he became convinced that it was indeed gone, and he was equally certain that it had not been removed without hands. It was a most surprising circumstance, he had taught in that Academy five years, and this was the first instance of dishonesty among his pupils. Some boys, it was true, had given him trouble in various ways, but never any thing of this kind. He remained in deep thought for a few moments, but all this did not bring back the missing bill; and he decided that his duty was, if possible, to find out who had stolen the money, for stolen it had been beyond a doubt. He was sure if any boy had been tempted to purloin the money after returning to the school-room at the noon hour, he must have it about him still, having had no opportunity of disposing of it; he knew it must have been taken after the return of some of the boys for he was the last one himself who left the room at noon; and he therefore determined to take prompt measures to find out who was the guilty one. He had no suspicion of any one, for there was not a pupil in the school who for a moment he would have believed capable of such an act. He ordered perfect silence in the room and in as few words as possible explained what had happened; desiring if any one present possessed the least knowledge of the matter they would at once make it known to him; saying at the same time, if any boy had been tempted to take the money, if he would then come forward, and own the theft, and give up the bill, he would forgive him and the matter should go no further. Mr. Oswald granted us fifteen minutes, in which to reveal any thing we might know concerning the affair. A pin might have been heard to fall in the room during those fifteen minutes, and seeing that nothing was to be learned in that way Mr. Oswald rose and stepping from his desk said, "a duty is before me and it must be performed, no matter how unpleasant it may be, but this matter must not rest as it is. If you are all innocent you need not fear, but I shall certainly take the liberty of searching the pockets of every boy in this room, for, if any boy took that money, he has it now." Assisted by Mr. Lawrence he proceeded to search the pockets of each boy, keeping a sharp watch that no one had a chance to make way with the money if he had it in his possession. The boys were very willing their pockets should be searched, and none more so than I, who was anxious that even a shadow of suspicion should be removed from me.

It happened to be Mr. Oswald himself who examined my pockets, and, uttering an exclamation of surprise, almost of horror, he turned deadly pale, for with his own hand he drew from my vest pocket the missing bill. Had a bomb-shell burst in the school room the shock would not have been more unexpected than was occasioned by this discovery. My countenance must have expressed unbounded astonishment and dismay, but certainly not guilt. With a face of deep sorrow, and a voice tremulous with emotion, Mr. Oswald exclaimed: "Can it be possible! Walter Harland, that this is true? That you whom I would have trusted with uncounted gold have been led to commit this act. Would that the case admitted even of a doubt, but with my own hand I have taken from your pocket what I know is the money I placed in my desk this morning for, as is my custom, I noticed the number of the bill when I received it."

It was with a heavy-heart that I performed my usual tasks that evening; and, before I could summon courage to relate my trouble to uncle Nathan, Mr. Oswald called, and himself acquainted him with the matter. Free from the presence of the other scholars, he said he had not the slightest belief in my guilt, but looked upon it as a mischievous plot formed among some other members of the school. "I know not," said he, "whether or no the mystery will over be cleared up; but I shall spare no pains to that end, for I must in someway or other have Walter cleared from blame; but how it is to be brought about the future alone most tell." Uncle Nathan, and even Aunt Lucinda, did not for a moment believe me guilty, and felt for me a deep sympathy as I sat by, in a dejected attitude, with my arms resting on the table and my face buried in my hands. Aunt Lucinda defended me in her usual sharp positive manner, and was for proceeding at once to some severe measures; but Mr. Oswald reminded her that, if such were the case, the truth would in all probability never come to light.

Good old Grandma Adams rose from her seat and, walking with uncertain steps to the table were I sat, placed her hands upon my bowed head, and repeated the following words from the Psalmist: "Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in him and he shall bring it to pass." "And he shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light and thy judgment as the noonday." "Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for him, fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass." "Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down, for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand." These verses from Scripture, repeated as they were by my aged grandmother had the effect to soothe my mind. It was so like what my own mother would have done under the same circumstances; and, raising my head I tried to be hopeful, and trust to time to prove my innocence. With all my resolves to be patient I found it very hard to bear up as day after day glided by and nothing took place to throw any light upon the matter. I could never have borne it, but for Mr. Oswald's assertion that he believed me innocent. He exercised the utmost vigilance to obtain some clue to the mystery, but two weeks glided by and nothing was gained.

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