oach arrived at the place of its destination, Harley,
who did things frequently in a way different from what other people call
natural, set out immediately afoot, having first put a spare shirt in
his pocket and given directions for the forwarding of his portmanteau.
It was a method of travelling which he was accustomed to take.

On the road, about four miles from his destination, Harley overtook an
old man, who from his dress had been a soldier, and walked with him.

"Sir," said the stranger, looking earnestly at him, "is not your name
Harley? You may well have forgotten my face, 'tis a long time since you
saw it; but possibly you may remember something of old Edwards? When you
were at school in the neighbourhood, you remember me at South Hill?"

"Edwards!" cried Harley, "O, heavens! let me clasp those knees on which
I have sat so often. Edwards! I shall never forget that fireside, round
which I have been so happy! But where have you been? Where is Jack?
Where is your daughter?"

"'Tis a long tale," replied Edwards, "but I will try to tell it you as
we walk."

Edwards had been a tenant farmer where his father, grandfather, and
great-grandfather had lived before him. The rapacity of a land steward,
heavy agricultural losses, and finally the arrival of a press-gang had
reduced him to misery. By paying a certain sum of money he had been
accepted by the press-gang instead of his son, and now old Edwards was
returning home invalided from the army.

When they had arrived within a little way of the village they journeyed
to, Harley stopped short and looked steadfastly on the mouldering walls
of a ruined house that stood by the roadside.

"What do I see?" he cried. "Silent, unroofed, and desolate! That was the
very school where I was boarded when you were at South Hill; 'tis but a
twelve-month since I saw it standing and its benches filled with
cherubs. That opposite side of the road was the green on which they
sported; see, it is now ploughed up!"

Just then a woman passed them on the road, who, in reply to Harley, told
them the squire had pulled the school-house down because it stood in the
way of his prospects.

"If you want anything with the school-mistress, sir," said the woman. "I
can show you the way to her house."

They followed her to the door of a snug habitation, where sat an elderly
woman with a boy and a girl before her, each of whom held a supper of
bread and milk in their hands.

"They are poor orph