cis
Ellesworth is in nowise a fit hero for a "penny-dreadful," nor was it
even an extraordinary circumstance that made him inquire how far
Cherokee Garden was from Sunshine.

"You can go by railroad," answered the Northern clerk, "or you can go
horseback. It's only eight miles by road through the pines. It's a very
pretty ride to take before dinner."

Ellesworth had two reasons for amusing himself by an easy trip to
Cherokee. He had a vague feeling of remorse which often follows the
decree of justice. Lincoln was made ill by being obliged to refuse a
pardon. The greater the power the heavier it hangs upon the heart.
Ellesworth, as he entertained himself in the conventional way, ever
spending, never earning, began to feel that he had done a brutal thing,
without even looking into the circumstances, to order a man's home sold
over his head, because he had failed to pay interest for the first
time. If Benson's farm were only eight miles away why did he not see him
before he sent the command to foreclose? There was an atonement owing,
and this feeling, rising like a mist in the mind of the young man, who
knew much of pleasure and little of misery, drew him to the mortgaged
plantation. And then, if Benson did prove a shiftless fellow, he wanted
to see what kind of a place he might be soon forced to own. He might
make it his winter resort and come down there every year. The more
selfish thought reinforced the generous one, and piqued his curiosity,
as he rode slowly into the wilderness, leaving Sunshine and its
fashionable savor behind.

It was a December morning. To one not used to the tropics, the sun, the
heat, the greenness, the exhilaration were magical. Under what cold
comforter was Boston Common shivering on this winter day! What pneumonic
gales roared up Beacon Street and gnashed through Commonwealth Avenue,
seeking whom they might devour, and having not a great way to go! How
blue the street vendors looked--the Italian boys who gilded statuettes
on Tremont Street, and the man under the old courthouse who offers to
clean your gloves of the unpardonable sin--for five cents! How the
fellows shivered as they stamped the snow off in the club vestibule!
The wonder that New England is not depopulated when there is such an
Eden in which to spend the devastating winter! So Ellesworth thought as
he jogged along the uneven, sandy road, congratulating himself with
every deep breath, and sitting straight and straighter in the