d on a bench, "Sit down there," cried he, "Tom Slingsby!"

A long conversation ensued about old times, while Slingsby was regaled
with the best cheer that the farm-house afforded; for he was hungry as
well as wayworn, and had the keen appetite of a poor pedestrian. The
early playmates then talked over their subsequent lives and
adventures. Jack had but little to relate, and was never good at a
long story. A prosperous life, passed at home, has little incident for
narrative; it is only poor devils, that are tossed about the world,
that are the true heroes of story. Jack had stuck by the paternal
farm, followed the same plough that his forefathers had driven, and
had waxed richer and richer as he grew older. As to Tom Slingsby, he
was an exemplification of the old proverb, "a rolling stone gathers no
moss." He had sought his fortune about the world, without ever finding
it, being a thing oftener found at home than abroad. He had been in
all kinds of situations, and had learned a dozen different modes of
making a living; but had found his way back to his native village
rather poorer than when he left it, his knapsack having dwindled down
to a scanty bundle.

As luck would have it, the Squire was passing by the farmhouse that
very evening, and called there, as is often his custom. He found the
two schoolmates still gossiping in the porch, and according to the
good old Scottish song, "taking a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang
syne." The Squire was struck by the contrast in appearance and
fortunes of these early playmates. Ready-Money Jack, seated in lordly
state, surrounded by the good things of this life, with golden guineas
hanging to his very watch-chain, and the poor pilgrim Slingsby, thin
as a weasel, with all his worldly effects, his bundle, hat, and
walking-staff, lying on the ground beside him.

The good Squire's heart warmed towards the luckless cosmopolite, for
he is a little prone to like such half-vagrant characters. He cast
about in his mind how he should contrive once more to anchor Slingsby
in his native village. Honest Jack had already offered him a present
shelter under his roof, in spite of the hints, and winks, and half
remonstrances of the shrewd Dame Tibbets; but how to provide for his
permanent maintenance was the question. Luckily the Squire bethought
himself that the village school was without a teacher. A little
further conversation convinced him that Slingsby was as fit for that
as for any thin