es, although he
never answered them directly. Once he kindly placed his hand upon the
boy's shoulder and Hushiel felt as proud as a young squire whom his
master had dubbed knight.

Gradually the correspondence concerning Ararat diminished and finally
it ceased altogether. Mordecai Noah made no comment; there was still
plenty of work for Hushiel with the newspaper articles; he also copied
portions of the Book of Jasher which Mr. Noah was translating from the
Hebrew. So the two labored together day after day, but neither even
mentioned the dream that had called Hushiel across the seas.

"I am going to Washington on business," his master informed Hushiel
one morning as they sat in his study, ready to begin work on the day's
tasks. "I may be gone for some time. You have been working hard and
faithfully," he added kindly, "and you deserve a holiday. Would you
care to go to Washington with me?"

Hushiel answered with difficulty, his eyes seeking the floor, for
suddenly a daring idea had captured his brain. "You are very kind," he
stammered, "but--if I might--may I spend my holiday as I please, if I
am back at my tasks in time?"

"Surely." Noah's hand sought his wallet. "Here is money. Give Peninah
a little treat, too, and do not hurry back to your desk too soon. When
you are ready for work again, you will find plenty of manuscript which
I will leave for you to copy during my absence. I think I will be gone
a fortnight."

"My holiday will not last that long," answered the boy, turning back
to his papers. "And, please sir, do not mention this to Peninah. I
will buy her some pleasure with the money you have just given me. But
I must have my holiday alone."

So Hushiel was alone when he stood before the monument of brick and
wood which had been erected on Grand Island, the proposed site of the
city of Ararat. To the lad, unused to the wilderness of America, the
journey down the river had been a fascinating one. Now he stood alone
in the vast silence, broken only by the roar of the Falls in the
distance. How long he stood here before the pile of bricks and wood
Hushiel never knew. When he tried to recall the scene years
afterwards, he pictured clearly a slender, dark-skinned boy lying upon
the ground, weeping bitterly as he listened to the rumblings of
Niagara which seemed to mock him as he grieved for the city which had
perished at its birth. For now he realized without a word from
Mordecai Noah that the dream had failed-