Arthur saw that Springle was as much a stranger to the host of the little inn as he was himself, so he presumed that this was his first visit to the place, and yet the man knew the road so well, and spoke of the people residing there in so particular a manner, that he could not suppose this was his first visit. A bowl of bread and milk constituted their supper, and as Arthur preferred a room to himself, they were shown to separate chambers and retired for the night. The young man slept soundly till eight o’clock, and when called to breakfast saw that he was alone. He was told that his companion had left the house at daylight, leaving his carpet-bag and a letter. The tavern-keeper said that in lounging about the door he had seen an acquaintance and had gone off with him. After breakfast the letter was brought, and to his surprise it was directed to himself, it ran thus— “An unforeseen circumstance has occurred which obliges me to return to the city whence I came, and as I have plenty of clothing there, I make you a present of the carpet-bag and its contents. Do not part with the bag, however, let your necessities be ever so great, as I value it very highly, though I part with it to you. When you are settled to your liking leave your address in this house, and the man, Mr. Somers, will forward it to me. Yours, Galton Springle.” “Do you know this man, this Galton Springle?” said Arthur to the landlord. “He is a stranger to me, and yet he makes me a present of this bag and all that it contains.” The landlord did not know him, had never seen him before, and thought him the ugliest hound that ever lived—evidently envious of Arthur’s good luck, and tormenting himself with the probability of his possessing the bag himself had he known that the owner was not to return. There was still ten miles to walk before Arthur could reach Berrydale, and what was worse, the road wound round a mountain, so that there was an ascent of three miles before he could reach the railroad that ran through the village to which he was going. Being now encumbered with more baggage, and having money enough to indulge himself, he hired a wagon to take him to Berrydale, where he arrived just as the dinner was smoking on the table of a small inn. Mr. Green, the landlord, knew Arthur, and of course gave him a landlord’s welcome. In a few minutes, after washing the dust from his face and hands, he was seated at the table with his host and family, and two strangers. “And what brought you here Mr. Hazerelle?” said the landlord, good-humoredly, “I hope whatever it is, you are to stay some time with us—I presume you are on a shooting frolic.” “My stay depends upon yourself and your neighbors, Mr. Green. I see by the papers that you are in want of a teacher, and feeling myself competent, I intend to offer myself as a candidate.”