one down, and the dark shadows of night were gathering
over the forest when they parted, but a short distance from Mr.
Bryant's house. With the basket which contained provisions for his
journey and the Bible in his hand, he returned to the hut, to get what
sleep he might before the wagon started.

CHAPTER XI

IN WHICH HARRY REACHES THE CITY, AND THOUGH OFTEN DISAPPOINTED, TRIES
AGAIN

Harry entered the cabin, and stretched himself on his bed of straw and
leaves; but the fear that he should not wake in season to take the
wagon at the appointed place, would scarcely permit him to close his
eyes. He had not yet made up for the sleep he had lost; and Nature,
not sharing his misgiving, at last closed and sealed his eyelids.

It would be presumptuous for me to attempt to inform the reader what
Harry dreamed about on that eventful night; but I can guess that it
was about angels, about bright faces and sweet smiles, and that they
were very pleasant dreams. At any rate, he slept very soundly, as
tired boys are apt to sleep, even when they are anxious about getting
up early in the morning.

He woke, at last, with a start; for with his first consciousness came
the remembrance of the early appointment. He sprang from his bed, and
threw down the door of the cabin. It was still dark; the stars
twinkled above, the owls screamed, and the frogs sang merrily around
him. He had no means of ascertaining the time of night. It might be
twelve; it might be four; and his uncertainty on this point filled him
with anxiety. Better too early than too late; and grasping the basket
and the Bible, which were to be the companions of his journey, he
hastened down the cart path to the turnpike.

There was no sound of approaching wheels to cheer him, and the clock
in the meeting house at Rockville obstinately refused to strike. He
reached the designated place; there was no wagon there. Perhaps he was
too late. The thought filled him with chagrin; and he was reading
himself a very severe lesson for having permitted himself to sleep at
all, when the church clock graciously condescended to relieve his
anxiety by striking the hour.

"One," said he, almost breathless with interest.

"Two," he repeated, loud enough to be heard, if there had been any one
to hear him.

"Three"; and he held his breath, waiting for more.

"No more!" he added, with disappointment and chagrin, when it was
certain that the clock did not mean to strike another str