obtained some clue
to guide him in his search.

Three weeks had gone by, when one lovely evening in the early part of
August he was pushing the cart before him, wearied with his day's work
and journey, along the high-road leading to a small village in
Shropshire. The turnpike-road itself ran through the middle of the
village. On a dingy board on the side of the first house as he entered,
he read the word "Fairmow."

"Knives to grind!--scissors to grind!--umbrels to mend!" he cried
wearily and mechanically; but no one seemed to need his services. Soon
he passed by the public-house--there was clearly no lack of custom
there, and yet the sounds that proceeded from it were certainly not
those of drunken mirth. He looked up at the sign. No ferocious lion
red or black, urged into a rearing posture by unnatural stimulants, was
there; nor griffin or dragon, white or green, symbolising the savage
tempers kindled by intoxicating drinks; but merely the simple words,
"Temperance Inn." Not a letter was there any where about the place to
intimate the sale of wine, beer, or spirits.

Waggons were there, for it was harvest-time, and men young and old were
gathered about the door, some quenching their thirst by moderate
draughts of beverages which slaked without rekindling it; others taking
in solid food with a hearty relish. A pleasant sight it was to Jacob;
but he would not pause now, as he wished to push on to the next town
before night. So he urged his cart before him along the level road,
till he came to a turn on the left hand off the main street. Here a
lovely little peep burst upon him. Just a few hundred yards down the
turn was a cottage, with a neat green paling before it. The roof was
newly thatched, and up the sides grew the rose and jessamine, which
mingled their flowers in profusion as they clustered over a snug little
latticed porch. The cottage itself was in the old-fashioned black-
timbered style, with one larger and one smaller pointed gable. There
was a lovely little garden in front, the very picture of neatness, and
filled with those homely flowers whose forms, colours, and odours are so
sweet because so familiar. Beyond the cottage there were no other
houses; but the road sloped down to a brook, crossed by a little rustic
bridge on the side of the hedge furthest from the cottage. Beyond the
brook the road rose again, and wound among thick hedges and tall stately
trees; while to the left was an ext