greater things for him yet."

The young man stepped forward up to the old man's chair, and held out
his hand to him. John Price grasped it eagerly with both his own thin,
wasted hands, and looking at him with a half-astonished, half-distressed
gaze, said abruptly, in a hoarse, choking voice, "What's your name?"

"My name?" said the young man, smiling at his earnestness. "My name,
old friend, is Horace Jackson."

"Horace--Horace!" muttered the other in a tone of great excitement; "it
must be--nay, it cannot be--and yet it must be. Are you sure, sir, your
name's Jackson?"

The young man, surprised at such a question, was about to reply, when
the colonel, coming forward, stooped over the old man and whispered a
few words in his ear. The poor invalid immediately sank back in his
chair, and covered his eyes with his hand for a moment; then he sat up
again, and took part in the conversation, but in a dreamy sort of way,
keeping his face steadily turned away from his younger visitor. But as
the colonel and his nephew were leaving the cottage, he fixed upon the
latter a look so full of anxiety and interest, that it was quite clear
that Horace Jackson had opened unwittingly a deep spring of feeling in
John Price's heart, which the old man found it almost impossible to
repress. As his visitors retired, Colonel Dawson, looking back, put his
finger on his lips, to which sign John Price slowly bent his head.

In a few minutes the colonel returned alone. "I have left my nephew at
the school," he said, "to give the children a questioning on what they
have been lately learning; and now, John, I shall be able to clear up
your doubts and fears, and to set your mind at rest on a subject which I
see affects you deeply." A long and interesting communication was then
made by the colonel to his humble friend, at the close of which the
invalid seemed as if he could have sprung out of his chair for very
gladness, while the tears poured from his eyes, and his lips murmured
words of thankfulness.

As Colonel Dawson was leaving, he turned and said with a smile,
"Remember, John, not a word to any one at present--not till I give you
leave."

"All right, sir; you may depend upon me. The Lord be praised!" was the
reply; and as the old man said the words, every wrinkle in his careworn
face seemed running over with light. But for the present Horace Jackson
did not call at his cottage again, though he now and then appeared in
the villag