laurel would have been a crown of thorns.

He was happy--very happy. What made him so? Not his dawning
prosperity; not the favor of Mr. Bayard; not the handsome salary he
was to receive; for all these things would have been but dross if he
had sacrificed his integrity, his love of truth and uprightness. He
had been true to himself, and unseen angels had held him up. He had
been faithful, and the consciousness of his fidelity to principle made
a heaven within his heart.

It was arranged that he should enter upon the duties of his new
situation on the following week. After settling with Mr. Bayard, he
found he had nearly seventy dollars in his possession; so that in a
pecuniary point of view, if in no other, his eastern excursion was
perfectly satisfactory.

By the noon train he departed for Riverdale, and in two hours more he
was folded to his mother's heart. Mrs. Bright wept for joy now, as she
had before wept in misery when she heard of her son's misfortune. It
took him all the afternoon to tell his exciting story to her, and she
was almost beside herself when Bobby told her about his new situation.

After tea he hastened over to Squire Lee's; and my young readers can
imagine what a warm reception he had from father and daughter. For the
third time that day he narrated his adventures in the east; and Annie
declared they were better than any novel she had ever read. Perhaps it
was because Bobby was the hero. It was nearly ten o'clock before he
finished his story; and when he left, the squire made him promise to
come over the next day.

CHAPTER XXI

IN WHICH BOBBY STEPS OFF THE STAGE, AND THE AUTHOR MUST FINISH "NOW OR
NEVER"

The few days which Bobby remained at home before entering upon the
duties of his new situation were agreeably filled up in calling upon
his many friends, and in visiting those pleasant spots in the woods
and by the river, which years of association had rendered dear to
him. His plans for the future, too, occupied some of his time, though,
inasmuch as his path of duty was already marked out, these plans were
but little more than a series of fond imaginings; in short, little
more than day dreams. I have before hinted that Bobby was addicted to
castle building, and I should pity the man or boy who was not--who had
no bright dream of future achievements, of future usefulness. "As a
man thinketh, so is he," the Psalmist tells us, and it was the pen of
inspiration which wrote it. What a