her the poet or the merchant.

"Well, now, youngster," he began, "these folks have had their say, so
I'll take my turn. My story will cut but a poor figure by the side of
theirs; for I never supposed that I could have a right to meat and
drink, and great praise besides, only for tagging rhymes together, as
it seems this man does; nor ever tried to get the substance of hundreds
into my own hands, like the trader there. When I was about of your
years, I married me a wife,--just such a neat and pretty young woman as
Miriam, if that's her name,--and all I asked of Providence was an
ordinary blessing on the sweat of my brow, so that we might be decent
and comfortable, and have daily bread for ourselves, and for some other
little mouths that we soon had to feed. We had no very great prospects
before us; but I never wanted to be idle; and I thought it a matter of
course that the Lord would help me, because I was willing to help
myself."

"And didn't He help thee, friend?" demanded Josiah, with some eagerness.

"No," said the yeoman, sullenly; "for then you would not have seen me
here. I have labored hard for years; and my means have been growing
narrower, and my living poorer, and my heart colder and heavier, all
the time; till at last I could bear it no longer. I set myself down to
calculate whether I had best go on the Oregon expedition, or come here
to the Shaker village; but I had not hope enough left in me to begin
the world over again; and, to make my story short, here I am. And now,
youngster, take my advice, and turn back; or else, some few years
hence, you'll have to climb this hill, with as heavy a heart as mine."

This simple story had a strong effect on the young fugitives. The
misfortunes of the poet and merchant had won little sympathy from their
plain good sense and unworldly feelings, qualities which made them such
unprejudiced and inflexible judges, that few men would have chosen to
take the opinion of this youth and maiden as to the wisdom or folly of
their pursuits. But here was one whose simple wishes had resembled
their own, and who, after efforts which almost gave him a right to
claim success from fate, had failed in accomplishing them.

"But thy wife, friend?" exclaimed the younger man. "What became of the
pretty girl, like Miriam? Oh, I am afraid she is dead!"

"Yea, poor man, she must be dead,--she and the children, too," sobbed
Miriam.

The female pilgrim had been leaning over the spring, where