ith him, but he preferred to remain in the hotel.
He lounged awhile in the bar-room, as it was called (though there was
no bar in it), listening to the conversation of the men who had
gathered there. At length, beginning to grow sleepy, he retired to his
chamber, taking with him a queer little lamp the landlord gave him,
which appeared to hold only about a thimblefull of oil. Oscar thought
it was a stingy contrivance, and had some notion of sitting up to see
how long it would burn; but his eyelids grew heavy, and he gave up the
idea. Throwing off his clothing, he extinguished his diminutive lamp,
and took possession of one of the beds in the room, of which there were
two. As he composed himself to sleep, a slight sense of lonesomeness
stole over him, when he remembered that he was alone in a strange house
and a strange city, more than a hundred miles from his home; and almost
unconsciously he found himself reverently repeating the little prayer
he had been taught by his mother in infancy, but which of late years,
in his sad waywardness, he had outgrown and almost forgotten:

"Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the lord my soul to take."

He had occasionally repeated to himself this simple but appropriate
evening petition during his late illness; but, strange to tell, for
several years previous to that time, the thought of asking anything of
the great Giver of all good had scarcely ever entered his mind.

Oscar was soon fast asleep, and the next thing he was conscious of was
the striking of a strange church-clock, that awoke him in the morning.
His uncle was dressing himself, and the sun was shining in at the
window. For a moment, he was puzzled to determine where he was; but
his recollection returned when his uncle remarked:

"Come, Oscar, it is time to get up,--we have got to be at the depot in
an hour."

Oscar jumped out of bed, and was dressed and ready for the breakfast
table before the bell rang. After the morning meal was
despatched,--for it was literally a work of despatch, judging from the
celerity with which the heaping plates of hot biscuits and beef-steak
disappeared from the long table,--Mr. Preston settled with the
landlord, and proceeded with Oscar to the railroad depot.

"How much further have we got to go?" inquired Oscar, after they had
taken their seat in the car.

"About one hundred and twenty miles," replied his