the parlor for him to
do his courting in. And one of the prettiest little sweethearts is
waiting to give him such a welcome. God bless her--she isn't a bit like
the rest of them Chapmans--she isn't."

"My school don't keep the day he comes home," rejoined the schoolmaster,
helping himself to another piece of pumpkin pie.

The mention of Tite's name filled old Hanz's eyes with tears. He buried
his face in his hands, and remained silent for several minutes, overcome
by his feelings. As soon as he had recovered control of them, he wiped
the tears from his eyes, and replied in broken sentences: "I vas sho
happy ven mine Tite, mine poor poy Tite vas home. Peers as if now, mine
poor poy he never comes home no more, he never prings shoy into mine
house no more."

"Always look on the best side of things, neighbor Hanz," replied the
Dominie.

"Yah, put I gets sho old now."

"It would not astonish me," continued the Dominie, playfully, "if the
young gentleman surprised us all to-night. Stranger things have
happened." These remarks excited a feeling of anxiety.

"I was on the other side of the river last night," continued the
Dominie, "and the people there had a report from the city that the
vessel he sailed in had been heard from." Angeline quietly left the
table, for the wells of her heart were overflowing.

"Tar shall come news as t' wessel mine Tite shails in comed pack, eh?"
enquired Hanz, fixing his eyes steadily on the Dominie.

"Not that she has arrived," returned the Dominie, "but that there is
news of her--"

"Tar pees news," muttered Hanz, his eyes glistening with anxiety. "An
nopody tells me t' news before, eh? Tar pees shum news of t'at wessel,
eh? Tar don't pee no news of mine poor Tite, eh?" The old man extended
his trembling hand and grasped the Dominie's arm nervously, his face
became as pale as marble, and his whole system shook with excitement.

"Tar shall come news as t' wessel mine Tite shails in comes pack," he
ejaculated, "an tar pees no news of mine poor poy, eh?" And he threw up
his arms, rested his head on the Dominie's shoulder and wept like a
child. "No, mine Tite he ton't comes home no more," he sobbed.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

RETURNED HOME.

While the scene just closed was being enacted, a glance across the river
and down the road that skirts along the Hudson from Yonkers to
Tarrytown, would have discovered a light country wagon, drawn by a
single horse, and containing two men, adv