e'll arrange that as soon as warm weather comes," said his employer.
"Make it your summer vacation."

Jack had to be satisfied. He knew that more was going on in the old
village than had been told him in any of his letters from home. His
father was a man who dreaded to write letters, and Mary and the rest of
them were either too busy, or else did not know just what news would be
most interesting to Jack.

"I'm going to see Crofield!" said he, a hundred times, after the days
began to grow longer. "I want to see the trees and the grass and I
want to see corn growing and wheat harvesting. I'd even like to be
stung by a bumblebee!"

He became so eager about it, at last, that he went home by rail all the
way, in a night train, and he arrived at Crofield, over the new
railroad, just as the sun was rising, one bright June morning.

"Goodness!" he exclaimed, as he walked out of the station. "It's not
the same village! I won't go over to the house and wake the family
until I've looked around."

From where he stood, he gazed at the new hotel, and took a long look up
and down Main Street. Then he walked eagerly down toward the bridge.

"Hullo!" he said in amazement. "Our house isn't there! Why, what is
the meaning of this? I knew that the shop had been moved up to the
back lot. They're building houses along the road across the
Cocahutchie! Why haven't they written and told me of all this?"

He saw the bridge, the factory, the tannery, and many other buildings,
but he did not see the familiar old blacksmith shop on the back lot.

"I don't know where we live nor where to find my home!" he said, almost
dejectedly. "They know I'm coming, though, and they must have meant to
surprise me. Mary's at home, too, for her vacation."

He walked up Main Street, leaving his baggage at the station.
New--new--new,--all the buildings for several blocks, and then he came
to houses that were just as they used to be. One pretty white house
stood back among some trees, on a corner, and, as Jack walked nearer, a
tall man in the door of it stepped quickly out to the gate. He seemed
to be trying to say something, but all he did, for a moment, was to
beckon with his hand.

[Illustration: _Jack returns home_.]

"Father!" shouted Jack, as he sprang forward.

"Jack, my son, how are you?"

"Is this our house?" asked Jack.

"Yes, this is our house. They're all getting up early, too, because
you're coming. There are some things