nice carriages, all along the streets and up to the Central
Park! I never shall forget them beautiful little creatur's. And then
the houses, an' the hosses, an' the store windows, an' all the rest of
it! Well, I can't make my country pitcher hold no more, an' I want to
get home an' think it over, goin' about my housework."

They were just entering the door of the Ethan Allen Hotel for the last
time, when a young man met them and bowed cordially. He was the
original reporter of their arrival, but they did not know it, and the
impulse was strong within him to formally invite Mr. Pinkham to make
an address before the members of the Produce Exchange on the following
morning; but he had been a country boy himself, and their look of
seriousness and self-consciousness appealed to him unexpectedly. He
wondered what effect this great experience would have upon their
after-life. The best fun, after all, would be to send marked copies of
his paper and Ederton's to all the weekly newspapers in that part of
Vermont. He saw before him the evidence of their happy increase of
self-respect, and he would make all their neighborhood agree to do
them honor. Such is the dominion of the press.

"Who was that young man?--he kind of bowed to you," asked the lady
from Wetherford, after the journalist had meekly passed; but Abel
Pinkham, Esquire, could only tell her that he looked like a young
fellow who was sitting in the office the evening that they came to the
hotel. The reporter did not seem to these distinguished persons to be
a young man of any consequence.

A WAR DEBT.

I.

There was a tinge of autumn color on even the English elms as Tom
Burton walked slowly up Beacon Street. He was wondering all the way
what he had better do with himself; it was far too early to settle
down in Boston for the winter, but his grandmother kept to her old
date for moving up to town, and here they were. As yet nobody thought
of braving the country weather long after October came in, and most
country houses were poorly equipped with fireplaces, or even furnaces:
this was some years ago, and not the very last autumn that ever was.

There was likely to be a long stretch of good weather, a month at
least, if one took the trouble to go a little way to the southward.
Tom Burton quickened his steps a little, and began to think definitely
of his guns, while a sudden resolve took shape in his mind. Just then
he reached the doorsteps of his grandmother's f