(some of us already stricken in
years) were seated, as was now our evening custom, upon the rustic
bridge that carries the road across the river Peg. The fragrant smoke of
our long pipes rising to the evening sky, our conversation, as was now
so frequently the case, had drifted from politics, sport, fashions and
the latest police intelligence to lovingly-recalled memories of our
long-lost friend, and so sad did we become that lumps as large as egg
plums rose to our throats, and our eyes brimmed over with tears.

[Illustration: AFFECTED BY HIS STORY]

'Drying our eyes we now smoked on in silent contemplation of the past;
the night gradually drew down, and the first star appeared in the
cloudless sky when there came to us the sound of a distant footstep,
coming along the road towards the town, and presently a strange figure
hove in sight,--an old, old man, with long tangled grey hair and shaggy
beard, clothed in the most pitiable rags, torn, and held together with
straw and odd pieces of string. He passed slowly across the bridge,
leaning heavily on his staff, and limped with difficulty towards the
town, into which with one accord we followed him.

[Illustration: PLUMP INTO THE RIVER WE WENT]

'Down the cobbled high street he walked until he came to the shop of the
vanished grocer into which he turned without any hesitation. Wondering
what business could take him there, we all hastened to the door of the
shop, and there, with the utmost astonishment, beheld the stranger
remove his threadbare coat, and replace it with the grocer's moth-eaten
apron that had hung for so long from a peg on the door; then he
commenced dusting the shop and putting it straight. As I gazed, my
astonishment gave place to the most incredulous amazement when I
detected in the old man a fancied likeness to the departed grocer. At
last, after closer scrutiny, I was convinced that it was indeed no other
than my friend actually returned after all these years, and as he at the
same time more easily recognised me, we fell into each other's arms, and
who shall describe the extravagance of our joy?

'In a little while, when we had calmed down, we all retired to the
little parlour behind the shop, and our good friend brewed us a cup of
tea as of old, and after a little gentle persuasion related to us the
following strange story of his disappearance:--

'"On that memorable summer afternoon, many years ago, as I was weighing
out the sugar into pound and