ensive park, gradually rising till,
at the distance of little more than a mile, a noble mansion of white
stone shone out brightly from its setting of dark green woods, over
which was just visible the waving outline of a dim, shadowy hill. Jacob
looked up the road, and gazed on the lovely picture with deep
admiration. He could see the deer in the park, and the glorious
sunlight just flashing out in a blaze of gold from the windows of the
mansion. He sighed as he gazed, though not in discontent; but he was
foot-sore and heart-weary, and he longed for rest. He thought he would
just take his cart as far as the cottage, more from a desire of having a
closer view of it than from much expectation of finding a customer. As
he went along he uttered the old cry,--

"Knives to grind--scissors to grind."

The words attracted the notice of a young man, who came out of the
cottage carrying a little child in his arms.

"I'll thank you to grind a point to this knife," he said, "and to put a
fresh rivet in, if you can; for our Samuel's took it out of his mother's
drawer when she was out, and he's done it no good, as you may see."

Jacob put out his hand for the knife, but started back when he saw it as
if it had been a serpent. Then he seized it eagerly, and looked with
staring eyes at the handle. There were scratched rudely on it the
letters SJ.

"Where, where did you get this?" he cried, turning first deadly pale,
and then very red again. The young man looked at him in amazement.
"Who, who are you?" stammered Jacob again.

"Who am I?" said the other; "why, my name's John Walters. I am afraid
you're not quite sober, my friend."

But just then a young woman came out from the cottage, leading by the
hand a boy about five years old. She looked round first at her husband
and then at the knife-grinder with a perplexed and startled gaze. The
next moment, with a cry of "Betty!" "Sammul!" brother and sister were
locked in each other's arms,--it was even so--the lost were found at
last.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS.

"Father, father!" cried Betty, rushing into the house, "come hither;
here's our Sammul come back."

"Eh! What do ye say? Our Sammul come back?" exclaimed a well-known
voice, and Johnson hurried out and clasped his son to his heart. "Eh!
the Lord be praised for this," he cried, with streaming eyes. "I've
prayed, and prayed for it, till I thought it were past praying for; but
come in a