nd never will be now."

The stranger rose, shook the dust from his sleeve, and ashamed at his
own earnestness, looked across the bushes for his horse.

"We should have been on our way already," he said. "We shall have a long
ride in the dark tonight."

Waldo hastened to fetch the animal; but he returned leading it slowly.
The sooner it came the sooner would its rider be gone.

The stranger was opening his saddlebag, in which were a bright French
novel and an old brown volume. He took the last and held it out to the
boy.

"It may be of some help to you," he said, carelessly. "It was a gospel
to me when I first fell on it. You must not expect too much; but it may
give you a centre round which to hang your ideas, instead of letting
them lie about in a confusion that makes the head ache. We of this
generation are not destined to eat and be satisfied as our fathers were;
we must be content to go hungry."

He smiled his automaton smile, and rebuttoned the bag. Waldo thrust the
book into his breast, and while he saddled the horse the stranger made
inquiries as to the nature of the road and the distance to the next
farm.

When the bags were fixed, Waldo took up his wooden post and began
to fasten it on to the saddle, tying it with the little blue cotton
handkerchief from his neck. The stranger looked on in silence. When it
was done the boy held the stirrup for him to mount.

"What is your name?" he inquired, ungloving his right hand when he was
in the saddle.

The boy replied:

"Well, I trust we shall meet again some day, sooner or later."

He shook hands with the ungloved hand; then drew on the glove, and
touched his horse, and rode slowly away. The boy stood to watch him.

Once when the stranger had gone half across the plain he looked back.

"Poor devil," he said, smiling and stroking his moustache. Then he
looked to see if the little blue handkerchief were still safely knotted.
"Poor devil!"

He smiled, and then he sighed wearily, very wearily.

And Waldo waited till the moving speck had disappeared on the horizon;
then he stooped and kissed passionately a hoof-mark in the sand. Then
he called his young birds together, and put his book under his arm, and
walked home along the stone wall. There was a rare beauty to him in the
sunshine that evening.

Chapter 2.III. Gregory Rose Finds His Affinity.

The new man, Gregory Rose, sat at the door of his dwelling, his arms
folded, his legs crossed, and a pr