"College! -- Have you just come to the city, cousin?" "He caught cold in the rain last Tuesday and has been lying by ever since, and only got in town this morning." "Have you got a place to stay?" "Not yet, ma'am. I have been but two hours here." "Well, you had better see to that the first thing, and come here and take dinner -- that'll give you a chance. You'll easily find what you want." "Not this morning, I think, unless it is to be found very near by," said Winthrop; "for my feet would hardly carry me a hundred yards." "You see, he's weak yet," put in Mr. Forriner. "Didn't you walk here, cousin?" said the lady. "Unfortunately, I did, ma'am; for I have not strength to walk anywhere else." "O well, you can go up stairs and lie down and get some rest; you'll be better by afternoon I dare say. Will you have another cup of tea?" But Winthrop declined it. "He don't look right smart," said Mr. Forriner. "I reckon he'll have to go to bed for a while. Cousin, if you'll come up stairs, I'll shew you a place where you can sleep." They went up accordingly. "Mr. Forriner --" called his wife from the bottom of the stairs when he and Winthrop had reached the top -- "Mr. Forriner! -- the _end_ room -- put him in the end room." "Yes -- it isn't very big, but you won't mind that to take a nap in," said Mr. Forriner, opening the door and ushering Winthrop in. Where he left him; and what secrets Winthrop's pillow knew were known to none but his pillow. But the morning was not all lost in sleep; and home's fair images did come most sweet about him before sleep came at all. He was called to dinner, but chose sleep rather, and slept well all the afternoon. Towards evening he roused himself, and though feeling very little strength to boast of, he dressed himself and went out.