to an elderly merchant and his wife, who were
returning to Boston in the carriage. While the coachman and a servant
were replacing the wheel the lady and gentleman sheltered themselves
beneath the maple trees, and there espied the bubbling fountain and
David Swan asleep beside it. Impressed with the awe which the humblest
sleeper usually sheds around him, the merchant trod as lightly as the
gout would allow, and his spouse took good heed not to rustle her silk
gown lest David should start up all of a sudden.

"How soundly he sleeps!" whispered the old gentleman. "From what a
depth he draws that easy breath! Such sleep as that, brought on
without an opiate, would be worth more to me than half my income, for
it would suppose health and an untroubled mind."

"And youth besides," said the lady. "Healthy and quiet age does not
sleep thus. Our slumber is no more like his than our wakefulness."

The longer they looked, the more did this elderly couple feel
interested in the unknown youth to whom the wayside and the maple
shade were as a secret chamber with the rich gloom of damask curtains
brooding over him. Perceiving that a stray sunbeam glimmered down upon
his face, the lady contrived to twist a branch aside so as to
intercept it, and, having done this little act of kindness, she began
to feel like a mother to him.

"Providence seems to have laid him here," whispered she to her
husband, "and to have brought us hither to find him, after our
disappointment in our cousin's son. Methinks I can see a likeness to
our departed Henry. Shall we waken him?"

"To what purpose?" said the merchant, hesitating. "We know nothing of
the youth's character."

"That open countenance!" replied his wife, in the same hushed voice,
yet earnestly. "This innocent sleep!"

While these whispers were passing, the sleeper's heart did not throb,
nor his breath become agitated, nor his features betray the least
token of interest. Yet Fortune was bending over him, just ready to let
fall a burden of gold. The old merchant had lost his only son, and had
no heir to his wealth except a distant relative with whose conduct he
was dissatisfied. In such cases people sometimes do stranger things
than to act the magician and awaken a young man to splendor who fell
asleep in poverty.

"Shall we not waken him?" repeated the lady, persuasively.

"The coach is ready, sir," said the servant, behind.

The old couple started, reddened and hurried away, mutual