oke. "I have
lost my chance. What a fool I have been! Miss Julia will think that I
am a smart fellow, when she finds that her efforts to get me off have
been wasted. Why did I go to sleep? I might have known that I should
not wake;" and he stamped his foot upon the ground with impatience.

He had been caught napping, and had lost the wagon. He was never so
mortified in his life. One who was so careless did not deserve to
succeed.

"One thing is clear--it is no use to cry for spilt milk," muttered he,
as he jumped over the fence into the road. "I have been stupid, but
try again."

Unfortunately, there was no chance to try again. Like thousands of
blessed opportunities, it had passed by, never to return. He had come
at the eleventh hour, and the door was closed against him. With the
wagon it had been "now or never."

Harry got over his impatience, and resolved that Julia should not come
to the cabin, the next morning, to find he had slept when the
bridegroom came. He had a pair of legs, and there was the road. It was
no use to "wait for the wagon;" legs were made before wagon wheels;
and he started on the long and weary pilgrimage.

He had not advanced ten paces before pleasant sounds reached his ears.
He stopped short, and listened. A wagon was certainly approaching, and
his heart leaped high with hope. Was it possible that John Lane had
not yet gone? Retracing his steps, he got over the fence at the place
where John was to take him. Perhaps it was not he, after all. He had
no right to suppose it was; but he determined to wait till the wagon
had passed.

The rumbling noise grew more distinct. It was a heavy wagon, heavily
loaded, and approached very slowly; but at last it reached the spot
where the impatient boy was waiting.

"Whoa!" said the driver; and the horses stopped.

Harry's heart bounded with joy. Some lucky accident had detained the
team, and he had regained his opportunity.

"Harry West!" said he on the wagon.

"John Lane!" replied Harry, as he leaped over the fence.

"You are on hand," added John Lane.

"I am; but I was sure you had gone. It is after three o'clock."

"I know it. I don't generally get off much before this time," answered
John. "Climb up here, and let us be moving on."

It was a large wagon, with a sail-cloth cover--one of those regular
baggage wagons which railroads have almost driven out of existence in
Massachusetts. It was drawn by four horses, harnessed two abreast, and