"I trust," said I, "you will long see me so; for I am now a changed, I hope, a wiser man--disposed to make the best of the lot to which Heaven has assigned me, and to sigh no longer with envy at the supposed superior advantages of others. I think, brother Alderwood, I shall now be contented with my condition, humble and even toilsome as it may be. I have seen enough of the miseries of my fellows--those even whom I most envied--during the two years of my absence, to teach me that every man has his share of them; that there is nothing peculiarly wretched in my own lot, and that I can be happy or not, just as I may choose to make myself. For this reason, I shall now bid adieu to indolence and discontent, the vile mother and viler daughter together, and do as my father did before me, that is, cultivate these few acres which my folly has left me, with my own hands; nor will I rest from my labours until I have discharged every claim against it, your own, my dear Alderwood, first of all; though I am sensible I can never repay the debt of kindness I owe you." "And this is really your intention?" demanded Alderwood, looking prodigiously gratified. "Your possessions are now limited, indeed; yet you have enough, with a little industry and care, to render you independent for life. And if you will really apply yourself to the farm--" "I will," said I. "If labour and perseverance can do it, I will attain the independence you speak of; I will remove every encumbrance on the forty-acre, and then trust to pass such a life as modest wishes and a contented temper can secure me." "You may begin to pass it immediately, then," said Alderwood, "for the forty-acre is already clear of every encumbrance. Yes," he continued, seeing me look surprised, "I tell you nothing but the truth. Aikin Jones, your old friend and overseer--" "He is a villain!" said I, "and he defrauded me." "So it is pretty commonly supposed; but, as we have no legal proof of his dishonesty, the less we say of it the better. He has gone to settle his accounts at a tribunal where craft and policy can avail him nothing. He died eight months ago, and they say who know best, in great agony and fear of spirit. Now, whether he was moved by old feelings of friendship, or was struck with remorse at seeing the condition to which he had reduced you--" "What condition?" said I. "Oh," said my sister, "the ruin of your affairs; nothing more." And Alderwood nodded his head by way of assent to the explanation. "In short," said he, "Mr. Aikin Jones, whatever may have been his motive, thought fit to bequeath you a legacy--" "What!" said I; "how could he leave a legacy to a man universally considered dead?" "Oh," said my sister, "he never would believe that. There were a good many people had their doubts on that subject."