orner, and the rickety veranda where,
when a boy, he used to sit beside his father of a summer evening, for it
was here Hanz welcomed his friends and smoked his pipe. It was here,
too, that Angeline, the spirit of whose sweet face had been with him in
his wanderings, used to sit at her flax-wheel, spinning thread that was
famous in Fly Market.

Could this be a sweet dream, a beautiful delusion, a spirit-spell that
moves the soul with pictures of love and enchantment, and from which
some stern reality would soon awake him and dispel the charm? No, it
was reality, appealing more forcibly to all that was true and kindly in
his nature, and filling his eyes with tears.

The inn-keeper noticed the effect it was having on his feelings, and
made an effort to divert his attention. "Looks kind o' natural after
bein' round the world doesn't it, Tite?" he enquired.

"Yes--seems like home again," was the quiet reply.

"Zounds!" exclaimed the inn-keeper, suddenly; "but there's somethin'
heavy in it." In attempting to lift the valise from the wagon it had
fallen to the ground under its great weight. The inn-keeper shook his
head and rubbed his hands. "Had a lucky voyage, I reckon," he concluded.

"More than eighty pounds of solid gold in that," returned Tite, coolly.
The mention of so much gold astonished and delighted the inn-keeper.

"There'll be such a time when the town hears that!" said he. "There'll
be enough o' them that'll call you their friend."

"Left three times as much more in the city," resumed Tite. "And there's
enough on an island in the Pacific to buy a town as big as Nyack. And I
know where it is."

"Eighty pounds of solid gold!" said the inn-keeper, looking enquiringly
at Tite, then stooping down and testing the weight of the valise with
his hands. "It's so. I always did know you'd come home a rich man."

They now carried the valise into the veranda, knocked at the door, and
listened for footsteps within. The big old dog had been growling and
barking fiercely for several minutes. Now he recognized the friendly
voice of the inn-keeper, and barked them a welcome. He then ran to the
little room where Hanz was sleeping, and only ceased barking when he got
up.

Soft footsteps were heard inside, a dim light shone through the little
window opening into the veranda, and a voice inside enquired: "Who comes
t' mine house sho late?"

"Open the door, friend Toodleburg," replied the inn-keeper. "Shouldn't
have distur