Year: 1866

] And kept on with strong heart and
great hopes to which only boys beart
can give birth, until saw the roofs and
steeples of the city, and heard at last the
strange sound of feet and wheels and ma
chinery which seemed the beating of its
monster heart,


Perhaps had 1 known what lay before
me I should have turned back and sought
some other country forge and prayed to
labor there; but all the weary conflict
shone in tie future, gilt by Hope, on that
day.


Soon began to realize how hard it is
even to earn bread in such place. My
little money seemed to melt like ice be-
meath the sun, for city prices Of food and
lodging were enormous, to my fancy
The time came when | suffered the pangs
of hunger and slept in a church porch,
The time would have come soon when l
should have slept beneath whatever ground
was allotted for the last rest of the city
poor bp. for that white haired old Quaker
Friend, Andrew Thorne. He listened to
--uy story and said this to NE:


at is pity any one should want for
bread. 1t is sin that any one should
want it who is willing to work. Come
with me, my friend, ar,l l will give thee
employment"


So, from that day the worst was over
and | wrote to Hetabelle and had letter
from her soon. 1t was more precious to
ne than any other earthly thing could
have been.


l was only in an humble place in grca,
counting house, but | had the hope Of
rising and l was happy. AT night l
studied and every week l wrote to iietty
and received an answer So a year rolled
by and another. A, the end of that tine
| was better off, and had no fear but that
l should be able to keep wife from
knowing what hardsEips we're. l told
Hctabell so, and she was of age now and
competent to choose for herself.


"And l will choose you, jan she
wrote, "for have never cared for any one
but you, and l am not the sirl to marry
one l cannot love, even at my fathers
bidding"


By that I knew that the old man still
favored Hanks suit.


| showed the letter to Thorne and to!d
him all, and said:


at is well for young man to marry,
and if the father doubts that :hou canst
keep wife, let him speak to me-"


So, at tie midsummer holiday | went
down to my native place, confident in my
hope of success, and happy as man could
be.


1t was late when reached the village
too late to 60 to my old masters house
SO | stopped for the night at the "Gold-
en- Bell" The usual crowd of drinkers
stood about the bar, and amongst them
was Hank. Not the Hank Of oil, though
in some things, for he had come into the
b1tcher's money, and was finely dressed,
and glittering with jewelry.


"Come back again, master runaway"
be cried, "what for, I'd like to know !"


l turned on my heel without answering,
but he followed me.


81 reckon l can tell" said he, "but it
is no use. Hetty belongs to another chap
than runaway prentice. She's my gal
now" and he uttered an oath.


l turned on hin suddenly.


"Liar," l said. GLOW dare you use
that name in such place ?"


"Reckon I've right to use it when l
choose" he said. 'I'm to marry her next
week. Why, look here's the ring she
gave me. It's too late for you now"


He stretched out his hand, and there l
saw upon the little finger the ring l had
given Hetabell, my mothers wedding
ring.


l felt shudder run through my frame.


The fellow lies, does he not 2" | asked
the landlord.


Over the glasses that parsonage shook
his wise head.


II know it is trne," he said. "Her
father told me yesterday in Hetty's hear
ing"


All Of the old iend there was within
me, grew strong at that. l could not trust
myself to speak.


l dashed out Of the house and ayav
into the darkness, walking straight on,
aud never leedinr where I wont until