pain. When you speak of me as your brother, and the brother of all those
whom you represent, you pay me the most grateful compliment that I have
ever received. It is impossible for me to regard myself as anything but
the creature and the instrument of a loving Providence. It is by no
power of my own, no skill of my own, no providence of my own, that I
have been carried through the startling changes of my life. The power
that has placed me where I am, is the power in which, during all my
years of adversity, I firmly trusted. It was that power which brought me
my friends--friends to whose good will and efficient service I owe my
wealth and my ability to make life profitable and pleasant to you. Fully
believing this, I can in no way regard myself as my own, or indulge in
pride and vain glory. You are all my brothers and sisters, and the dear
Father of us all has placed the power in my hands to do you good. In the
patient and persistent execution of this stewardship lies the duty of my
life. I thank you all for your good will. I thank you all for this
opportunity to meet you, and to say to you the words which have for five
years been in my heart, waiting to be spoken. Come to me always with
your troubles. Tell me always what I can do for you, to make your way
easier. Help me to make this village a prosperous, virtuous and happy
one--a model for all its neighbors. And now I wish to take you all by
the hand, in pledge of our mutual friendship and of our devotion to each
other."

Mr. Benedict steps forward with Mrs. Dillingham, and both shake hands
with Mr. Yates. One after another--some shyly, some confidently--the
operatives come up and repeat the process, until all have pressed the
proprietor's hand, and have received a pleasant greeting and a cordial
word from his sister, of whom the girls are strangely afraid. There is a
moment of awkward delay, as they start on their homeward way, and then
they gather in a group upon the brow of the hill, and the evening air
resounds with "three cheers" for Mr. Benedict. The hum of voices begins
again, the tramp of a hundred feet passes down the hill, and our little
party are left to themselves.

They do not linger long. The Snows take their leave. Mr. and Mrs. Yates
retire, with a lingering "good-night," but the Balfours and the Fentons
are guests of the house. They go in, and the lamps are lighted, while
the "little feller--Paul B. by name"--is carried on his happy father's
shoulder