it? Lend it to ye, did she?"

"Gave it to me," answered Elisha proudly.

"You be careful of that watch," said the driver soberly; and Elisha
nodded.

"Well, good-day to ye; be a stiddy lad," advised John Sykes, a few
minutes afterward. "Don't start in too smart an' scare 'm up to
Boston. Pride an' ambition was the downfall o' old Cole's dog. There,
sonny, the bo't ain't nowheres in sight, for all your fidgetin'!"

They both smiled broadly at the humorous warning, and as the old wagon
rattled away, Elisha stood a moment looking after it; then he went
down to the wharf by winding ways among piles of decayed timber and
disused lobster-pots. A small group of travelers and spectators had
already assembled, and they stared at him in a way that made him feel
separated from his kind, though some of them had come to see him
depart. One unenlightened acquaintance inquired if Elisha were
expecting friends by that morning's boat; and when he explained that
he was going away himself, asked kindly whether it was to be as far as
Bath. Elisha mentioned the word "Boston" with scorn and compassion,
but he did not feel like discussing his brilliant prospects now, as he
had been more than ready to do the week before. Just then a deaf old
woman asked for the time of day. She sat next him on the battered
bench.

"Be you going up to Bath, dear?" she demanded suddenly; and he said
yes. "Guess I'll stick to you, then, fur's you go; 't is kind o' blind
in them big places." Elisha faintly nodded a meek but grudging assent;
then, after a few moments, he boldly rose, tall umbrella in hand, and
joined the talkative company of old and young men at the other side of
the wharf. They proceeded to make very light of a person's going to
Boston to enter upon his business career; but, after all, their
thoughts were those of mingled respect and envy. Most of them had seen
Boston, but no one save Elisha was going there that day to stay for a
whole year. It made him feel like a city man.

The steamer whistled loud and hoarse before she came in sight, but
presently the gay flags showed close by above the pointed spruces.
Then she came jarring against the wharf, and the instant bustle and
hurry, the strange faces of the passengers, and the loud rattle of
freight going on board, were as confusing and exciting as if a small
piece of Boston itself had been dropped into that quiet cove.

The people on the wharf shouted cheerful good-byes, to which the young