ky into a dazzling effulgence, and sending
long golden lines of light through the interstices of the forest on one
hand, and the rising moon was flooding the eastern heavens with a
silvery radiance on the other. The sleigh flew as if drawn by winged
horses.

"Isn't it grand, Ishmael?" inquired Claudia.

"Oh, yes, indeed, miss!" responded the boy, with fervor.

In twenty minutes they had reached the turnpike road from which started
the little narrow foot-path leading through the forest to the hut.

"Well, my boy, here we are! jump out! Good-night! I shall not lose sight
of you!" said Mr. Middleton, as he drew up to let Ishmael alight.

"Good-night, sir; good-night, madam; good-night, Miss Claudia. I thank
you more than I can express, sir; but, indeed, indeed, I will try to
deserve your kindness," said Ishmael, as he bowed, and took his pack
once more upon his back and sped on through the narrow forest-path that
led to his humble home. His very soul within him was singing for joy.

CHAPTER XXV.

A TURNING POINT IN ISHMAEL'S LIFE.

There is a thought, so purely blest,
That to its use I oft repair,
When evil breaks my spirit's rest,
And pleasure is but varied care;
A thought to light the darkest skies,
To deck with flowers the bleakest moor,
A thought whose home is paradise,
The charities of Poor to Poor.

--_Richard Monckton Milnes_.

Ishmael lifted the latch and entered the hut, softly lest Hannah should
have fallen asleep and he should awaken her.

He was right. The invalid had dropped into one of those soft, refreshing
slumbers that often visit and relieve the bed-ridden and exhausted
sufferer.

Ishmael closed the door, and moving about noiselessly, placed his
treasured book on the bureau; put away his provisions in the cupboard;
rekindled the smoldering fire; hung on the teakettle; set a little stand
by Hannah's bedside, covered it with a white napkin and arranged a
little tea service upon it; and then drew his little three-legged stool
to the fire and sat down to warm and rest his cold and tired limbs, and
to watch the teakettle boil.

Poor child! His feeble frame had been fearfully over-tasked, and so the
heat of the fire and the stillness of the room, both acting upon his
exhausted nature, sent him also to sleep, and he was soon nodding.

He was aroused by the voice of Hannah, who had quietly awakened.

"Is that you, Ishmael?" she said.

"Yes, aunt," he exclaime