, rattled to school in the butcher
wagon, never knew a lesson, but was always leading lady in the
school colloquies, and was surely destined to rise to eminence on
the American stage if she did not break her neck tumbling out of
old Skinner's walnut tree?

"Oh, Sal; she married the Congregational minister down to
Peterfield, and was 'lected president of the Temperance Union and
secretary of the Endeavorers. Read a piece down at Fust Church
last week on 'Breakin' Away from Old Standards,' illustratin' the
alarmin' degen'racy of children nowadays."

And George Hawley, our Achilles, our Samson, our ideal of
everything manly and courageous! Strong as an ox and brave as a
lion! Our champion in every form of athletic sports! Who looked
with contempt on girls and disdained their maidenly advances! Who
thought only of deeds of muscular prowess, and who seemed to
carry the assurance of a force that would lead armies and subdue
nations! What of George?

"Wa-al, George was a-beout not long ago. Had your room for his
samples. Travellin' for a house down in Boston, and comes here
reg'lar. Women folks say his last line o' shirt waists war the
best they ever see."

Oh, the times that change, and change us! Alas, the fleeting
years, good Posthumus, that work such havoc with our childhood
dreams and hopes and aspirations!

It was a relief, after the shattering of these idols, to leave
the society of the communicative Mr. Pettigrew and wander into
the moonlight. Save as adding beauty to the scenery, the moon
was comparatively of no assistance, for so well was the little
village stamped on my memory, and so little had it changed in the
quarter of a century, that I could have walked blindfolded to any
suggested point. Naturally I turned my steps toward the home of
my youth, and as I drew near the old-fashioned, many-gabled
house, with its settled, substantial air, austere yet inviting,
its large yard with the huge elms, and the big lamp burning in
the library or "sittin'-room," where I first dolefully studied
the geography that told me of a world outside, it seemed to bend
toward me rather frigidly as if to say reproachfully: "You sold
me! you sold me!" True, dear old home; in my less prosperous days
I was guilty of the crime of selling the house that faithfully
sheltered my family for a hundred years. But have I not repented?
And have I not returned to buy you back, and to make such further
reparation as present conditions and tr