ar lines, till Harry was fairly lulled to sleep by the
harmonious measures. The angel of the Lord had come down for the
fortieth time, after the manner of the ancient psalmody, and for the
fortieth time Harry had thought of _his_ angel, when he dropped off to
dream of the "glory that shone around."

Harry slept soundly after he got a little used to the rough motion of
the wagon, and it was sunrise before he woke.

"Well, Harry, how do you feel now?" asked John, as he emerged from his
lodging apartment.

"Better; I feel as bright as a new pin. Where are we?"

"We have come about twelve miles. Pretty soon we shall stop to bait
the team and get some breakfast."

"I have got some breakfast in my basket. Julia gave me enough to last
a week. I shan't starve, at any rate."

"No one would ever be hungry in this world, if everybody were like
Julia. But you shall breakfast with me at the tavern."

"It won't be safe--will it?"

"O, yes; nobody will know you here."

"Well, I have got some money to pay for anything I have."

"Keep your money, Harry; you will want it all when you get to Boston."

After going a few miles farther, they stopped at a tavern, where the
horses were fed, and Harry ate such a breakfast as a pauper never ate
before. John would not let him pay for it, declaring that Julia's
friends were his friends.

The remaining portion of the journey was effected without any incident
worthy of narrating, and they reached the city about noon. Of course
the first sight of Boston astonished Harry. His conceptions of a city
were entirely at fault; and though it was not a very large city
twenty-five years ago, it far exceeded his expectations.

Harry had a mission before him, and he did not permit his curiosity to
interfere with that. John drove down town to deliver his load; and
Harry went with him, improving every opportunity to obtain work. When
the wagon stopped, he went boldly into the stores in the vicinity to
inquire if they "wanted to hire a hand."

Now, Harry was not exactly in a condition to produce a very favorable
impression upon those to whom he applied for work. His clothes were
never very genteel, nor very artistically cut and made; and they were
threadbare, and patched at the knees and elbows. A patch is no
disguise to a man or boy, it is true; but if a little more care had
been taken to adapt the color and kind of fabric in Harry's patches to
the original garment, his general appearance would un