, "Over the hills and far away," and sallied forth gayly to
"seek his fortune."

Years and years passed by, and young Tom Slingsby was forgotten; when,
one mellow Sunday afternoon in autumn, a thin man, somewhat advanced
in life, with a coat out at elbows, a pair of old nankeen gaiters, and
a few things tied in a handkerchief and slung on the end of a stick,
was seen loitering through the village. He appeared to regard several
houses attentively, to peer into the windows that were open, to eye
the villagers wistfully as they returned from church, and then to pass
some time in the church-yard reading the tombstones.

At length he found his way to the farm-house of Ready-Money Jack, but
paused ere he attempted the wicket; contemplating the picture of
substantial independence before him. In the porch of the house sat
Ready-Money Jack, in his Sunday dress; with his hat upon his head, his
pipe in his mouth, and his tankard before him, the monarch of all he
surveyed. Beside him lay his fat house-dog. The varied sounds of
poultry were heard from the well-stocked farm-yard; the bees hummed
from their hives in the garden; the cattle lowed in the rich meadow;
while the crammed barns and ample stacks bore proof of an abundant
harvest.

The stranger opened the gate and advanced dubiously toward the house.
The mastiff growled at the sight of the suspicious-looking intruder;
but was immediately silenced by his master, who, taking his pipe from
his mouth, awaited with inquiring aspect the address of this equivocal
personage. The stranger eyed old Jack for a moment, so portly in his
dimensions, and decked out in gorgeous apparel; then cast a glance
upon his own thread-bare and starveling condition, and the scanty
bundle which he held in his hand; then giving his shrunk waistcoat a
twitch to make it meet its receding waistband, and casting another
look, half sad, half humorous, at the sturdy yeoman, "I suppose," said
he, "Mr. Tibbets, you have forgot old times and old playmates."

The latter gazed at him with scrutinizing look, but acknowledged that
he had no recollection of him.

"Like enough, like enough," said the stranger, "every body seems to
have forgotten poor Slingsby!"

"Why, no, sure! it can't be Tom Slingsby?"

"Yes, but it is, though!" replied the stranger, shaking his head.

Ready-Money Jack was on his feet in a twinkling, thrust out his hand,
gave his ancient crony the gripe of a giant, and slapping the other
han