pped at the little red covered bridge that marked the boundary
of the village. Silas had been dead for twenty years, but it
seemed to me that it was only yesterday that I heard his nasal
twang above the roar of the machinery: "Sa-ay, you fellers want
to git out o' that!" The little bridge had lost much of its color
and most of its impressiveness, for I remembered when to my
boyish fancy it seemed a greater triumph of engineering than the
Victoria bridge at Montreal. And the same old thrill went through
me as I started to run--just as I did when a boy--and felt the
planks loosen and creak under my feet. Here was a home-coming
worth the while.

Hank Pettigrew kept the village tavern. The memory of man, so far
as I knew, ran not back to the time when Hank did not keep the
tavern. So I was not in the least surprised, as I entered, to see
the old man, with his chair tilted back against the wall, his
knees on a level with his chin, and his eyes fixed on a chromo of
"Muster Day," which had descended to him through successive
generations. He did not move as I advanced, or manifest the
slightest emotion of surprise, merely saying, "Hullo, Johnny,"
as if he expected me to remark that mother had sent me over to
see if he had any ice cream left over from dinner. It probably
did not occur to Hank that I had been absent twenty-five years.
If it had occurred to him, he would have considered such a
trifling flight of time not worth mentioning.

With the question of lodging and supper disposed of, and with the
modest bribe of a cigar, which Hank furtively exchanged for a
more accustomed brand of valley leaf, it was not difficult to
loosen the old landlord's tongue and secure information of my
playmates. What had become of Teddy Grover, the pride of our
school on exhibition day? Could we ever forget the afternoon he
stood up before the minister and the assembled population and
roared "Marco Bozzaris" until we were sure the sultan was quaking
in his seraglio? And how he thundered "Blaze with your serried
columns, I will not bend the knee!" To our excited imaginations
what dazzling triumphs the future held out for Teddy.

"Yep; Ted's still a-beout. Three days in the week he drives stage
coach over to Spicerville, and the rest o' the time he does odd
jobs--sort o' tendin' round."

And Sallie Cotton--black-eyed, curly-haired, mischievous little
sprite, the agony of the teacher and the love and admiration of
the boys! Who climbed trees