said
she. 'Ha!' cried I, 'these words are not yours. I heard them one short
week ago. I know your teacher now. It was that false-hearted woman gave
you these precious maxims. It was not thus you spoke or felt when first
I knew you, May.' 'Is it not well,' said she, 'that we have each grown
wiser?' I heard no more. I have no memory for the passionate words I
uttered, the bitter reproaches I dared to make her. We parted in anger,
never to meet again; and then poor Clara, how I hear her faint, soft
voice, as she found me sitting there alone, forsaken, as she asked me,
'May I take these flowers?' and oh! how bitterly she wept as I snatched
them from her hand, and scattered them on the ground, saying, 'They were
not meant for you!' 'Let me have one, dear Alfred,' said she, just then;
and she took up a little jasmine flower from the walk. 'Even that you
despise to give is dear _to me!_ And so I kissed her on the forehead,
and said, 'Good-bye.' Two partings,--never to meet again!" He covered
his face with his hands, and his chest heaved heavily.

"It's main dreary in these diggin's here," cried Quackin-boss, as he
came up with long strides. "I 've been a-lookin' about on every side to
find some one to open the house for us, but there ain't a crittur to be
found. What 's all this about? You haven't been a-cryin', have you?"

Alfred turned away his head without speaking.

"I'll tell you what it is, Layton," said he, earnestly, "there's no
manner of misfortune can befall in life that one need to fret over, but
the death of friends, or sickness; and as these are God's own doin',
it is not for us to say they 're wrong. Cheer up, man; you and I are
a-goin' to fight the world together."

"You have been a true friend to me," said Layton, grasping the other's
hand, while he held his head still averted.

"Well, I mean to, that's a fact; but you must rouse yourself, lad. We're
a-goin' 'cross seas, and amongst fellows that, whatever they do with
their spare time, give none of it to grief. Who ever saw John C. Colhoun
cry? Did any one ever catch Dan Webster in tears?"

"I was n't crying," said Layton; "I was only saddened to see again a
spot where I used to be so happy. I was thinking of bygones."

"I take it bygones is very little use if they don't teach us something
more than to grieve over 'em; and, what's more, Layton,--it sounds
harsh to say it,--but grief, when it's long persisted in, is downright
selfishness, and nothing else