the
old men in the place, who would perhaps be able to tell him where his
home had stood thirty years ago.

At once he set about interviewing all the old men he came upon in his
rounds, describing to them the farm tenanted by a man named Dyson about
forty years ago, and by and by he got hold of one who knew. He listened
for a few minutes to the oft-repeated story, then exclaimed, "Why, sir,
'tis surely Woodyates you be talking about!"

"That's the name! That's the name," he cried. "Woodyyates-how did I ever
forget it! You knew it then--where was it?"

"I'll just show you," said the old man, proud at having guessed rightly,
and turning started slowly hobbling along till he got to the end of the
lane.

There was an opening there and a view of the valley with trees, blue in
the distance, at the furthest visible point. "Do you see them trees?"
he said. "That's where Harping is; 'tis two miles or, perhaps, a little
more from Thorpe. There's a church tower among them trees, but you
can't see it because 'tis hid. You go by the road till you comes to the
church, then you go on by the water, maybe a quarter of a mile, and you
comes to Woodyates. You won't see no difference in it; I've knowed it
since I were a boy, but 'tis in Harping parish, not in Thorpe."

Now he remembered the name--Harping, near Thorpe--only Thorpe was the
more important village where the inn was and the shops.

In less than an hour after leaving his informant he was at Woodyates,
feasting his eyes on the old house of his dreams and of his exiled
father's before him, inexpressibly glad to recognize it as the very
house he had loved so long--that he had been deceived by no false image.

For some days he haunted the spot, then became a lodger at the
farm-house, and now after making some inquiries he had found that the
owner was willing to sell the place for something more than its market
value, and he was going up to London about it.

At Waterloo I wished him happiness in his old home found again after
so many years, then watched him as he walked briskly away--as
commonplace-looking a man as could be seen on that busy crowded
platform, in his suit of rough grey tweeds, thick boots, and bowler
hat. Yet one whose fortune might be envied by many even among the
successful--one who had cherished a secret thought and feeling, which
had been to him like the shadow of a rock and like a cool spring in a
dry and thirsty land.

And in that host of undistingui