the multitudinous songs of the birds enveloped
him in a sort of musical atmosphere. For the first time since his
restoration to hope, the past seemed like a dream, and these few
blissful moments became a prophecy of a new and grander life. "For, if
the burden can fall off for a single moment, why not for many moments?"
So he said to himself, as the consciousness of his past misery and his
unknown future thrust their disturbing faces into the midst of these
blissful emotions.

The vague joys which had been surging through his soul became vivid and
well-defined as the details of the landscape around his old home began
gradually to be revealed. At first he had recognized only the larger and
more general features like the lines of hills, the valleys, the rivers;
but now he began to distinguish well-known farms and houses, streams in
which he had fished, groves in which he had hunted, roads over which he
had driven; and the pleasure of reviving old memories and associations
increased with every step of progress. At last he began to ascend the
high hill which hid the house of his childhood from view. He reached the
summit; there lay the village fast asleep in the spring sunshine. He
recognized it, but with astonishment, for it looked like a miniature of
its former self. The buildings that once appeared so grand had shrunk to
playhouses. The broad streets had contracted and looked like narrow
lanes. He rubbed his eyes to see if they were deceiving him.

An unreality brooded mysteriously over everything. It was the same, yet
not the same, and he paused a moment to permit his mind to become
accustomed to these alterations; to ponder upon the reasons for this
change; to realize the joy and sadness which mingled in his heart; and
then he turned into a side road to escape any possible encounter with
old acquaintances.

The route which he had chosen did not lead to the farm house, but to the
cemetery where the body of his mother lay wrapped in her dreamless
sleep; that neglected grave was drawing him to itself with a magnetic
force. He who, for a year, had thought of her scarcely at all, now
thought of nothing else. The last incident in her life, the face white
with its intolerable pain of confession, the gasp for breath, the sudden
fall, the quiet funeral, his own responsibility for this tragic
death--he lived it all over and over again in an instant of time as
grief, regret, remorse, successively swept his heart. Tying his horse