“The world seems bent on puzzling me this morning,” muttered he, as he sauntered slowly on. “People treat me as though I were playing some deep game to their detriment,--I, who have no game, almost no future!” added he, despondingly. “For what avails it to attain eminence amidst such as these; and, as for the others, I was not born for them.” To these moody thoughts succeeded others still gloomier. It had only been within a short time back that the young man had begun to appreciate the difficulties of a position to which his early successes imparted increasing embarrassment; and darkly brooding over these things, he drew near his mother's cottage. She was already at the door to meet him, with a letter in her hand. “This is from your father, Joe,” said she. “He wants you in all haste up at the town; and I've packed your clothes, and sent off Patsey for Mooney's car; so come in and eat something at once.” Joseph took the note from her hand and perused it in silence. It was brief, and ran thus:-- “Dear Joe,--I want you up here as soon as possible, to meet a friend whom you 'll be surprised to see. I say no more, but that I expect you by dinner-time.--Yours ever, “D.N.” “What does that mean, Joe?” asked his mother. He only shrugged his shoulders in reply. “And who can it be?” said she again. “Some of the townspeople, of course,” said he, carelessly. “No, no, Joe; it must be a stranger. Maybe it's Morgan Drake; his aunt expected him back from Jamaica before Christmas. Or it 's Corny Dwyer 's come home from Africa; you know he went on the deploring expedition--” “Exploring, mother,--exploring.” “Well, exploring or deploring, it's all the same. He went four years ago, and all the tidings they 've had of him was an elephant's tooth he sent home to his stepfather. I know it's Corny, for your father always liked him and the funny stories he told.” “Perhaps so!” replied Joe. “I wonder, is he grown any bigger? He was little better than a dwarf when he went away, and the same age as yourself. No, indeed, he was older,--fourteen months older. It was Catty Henderson was running in my head. Is n't she a fine young woman, Joe?” “Remarkably so,” said he, with more animation in his tone. “A little bit too haughty-looking and proud, maybe, considering her station in life, and that she has to go to service--” “Go to service, mother?”