vanished, and Nicholas returned to his thoughts.

The years had been almost breathless in their flight. He had put himself
to a purpose, and he had lost sight of all things save its fulfilment.
The success that men spoke of with astonished eyes--the transformation
of the barefooted boy into the triumphant politician, had a firm
foundation, he knew, though others did not. It was his capacity for toil
that had made him--not his intellect, but his ability to persevere--the
power which, in the old days, had successfully carried him through Jerry
Pollard's store. As chairman of the Democratic Party, men had called his
campaigns brilliant. He alone knew the tedious processes, the infinite
patience from which these triumphs had evolved--he alone knew the secret
and the security of his success.

The train stopped with a lurch.

"Kingsborough, sir!" said the conductor with a friendly touch upon his
arm.

He started abruptly from his reverie, lifted his bag, and left the car.
On the platform outside a group of stragglers recognised him, and there
was a hearty cheer followed by frantic handshakes. The incident pleased
him, and he spoke to each man singly, calling him by name. The sheriff
was one of them, and the clerk of the court, and the old negro sexton of
the church. There was a fervour in their congratulations which brought
the warmth to his eyes. He was glad that the men who had known him in
his poverty should rise so cordially to approve his success.

He left the station, walking rapidly to the judge's house. He had
frequently returned to Kingsborough, but to-day the changes of the last
fifteen years struck him with a sensation of surprise. The wide, white
street, half in sunshine, half in shadow, trailed its drowsy length into
the open country where the roads were filled with grass and dust. He
noticed with a pang that the ivy had been torn from the church and that
the glazed brick walls flaunted a nudity that was almost immodest. He
had remembered it as a bower of shade--a gigantic bird's nest. He saw
that ancient elms were rapidly decaying, and when he reached the judge's
garden he found that the syringa and the lilacs had vanished. The garden
had faced the destroyer in the plough, and trim vegetables thrived where
gaudy blossoms had once rioted.

As he opened the gate he saw old Caesar bending above the mint bed, and
he went over to him.

"Dar ain' nuttin better ter jedge er gent'mun by den his mint patch,"
the