And each year's loss be smaller than its gain. God's love is in them—count the friends ye get The only wealth, and foes the only debt. In life and Nature read the simple plan: Be kind, be just, and fear not God or man. School's out. I passed through the door—not eagerly, as when I had been a boy, but with feet paced by sober thought—and I felt like one who had “improved his time,” as they used to say. 8063 We rode in silence on our way to Hillsborough, as the dusk fell. “The end o' good things is better'n the beginning,” said Uncle Eb, as we got out of the carriage. III 8064 9064 NE more scene from that last year, and I am done with it. There is much comes crowding out of my memory, but only one thing which I could wish were now a part of the record. Yet I have withheld it, and well might keep it to myself, for need of better words than any which have come to me in all my life. Christmas! And we were back in the old home again. We had brought the children with us. Somehow they seemed to know our needs and perils. They rallied to our defence, marching 8065 up and down with fife and drum, and waving banners, and shouts of victory—a battalion as brave as any in the great army of happiness. They saved the day which else had been overrun with thoughts and fears from the camp of the enemy. Well, we had a cheerful time of it, and not an eye closed until after the stroke of ten that night. Slowly, silence fell in the little house. Below-stairs the lights were out, and Hope and I were sitting alone before the fire. We were talking of old times in the dim firelight. Soon there came a gentle rap at our door. It was Uncle Eb with a candle in his hand. “I jes' thought I'd come in an' talk a leetle conversation,” said he, and sat down, laughing with good humor. “'Member the ol' hair trunk?” he asked, and when I assured him that we 8066 could not ever forget it, he put his hand over his face and shook with silent and almost sorrowful laughter. “I 'member years ago, you use' to think my watch was a gran' thing, an' when ye left hum ye wanted t' take it with ye, but we didn't think it was best then.” “Yes, I remember that.” “I don't s'pose”—he hesitated as a little embarrassed—“you've got so. many splendid things now, I—I don't s'pose—” “Oh, Uncle Eb, I'd prize it above all things,” I assured him. “Would ye? Here 't is,” said he, with a smile, as he took it out of his pocket and put it in my hand. “It's been a gran' good watch.” “But you—you'll need it.” “No,” he answered. “The clock 8067 'll do fer me—I'm goin' to move soon.” “Move!” we both exclaimed. “Goin' out in the fields to work ag'in,” he added, cheerfully.