"Wouldn't a good supper, and a cup of cider that'll make your palate tingle, set you up again?" he pleaded. "There's a hull hive of purty gals over at uncle Nat's, that would jump right out of their skins at the first sound of that fiddle. If you only could now." "Give me a crust of bread and a cup of drink, and I will try and please you. I think it is, perhaps, as much the want of food as weariness that has taken away my strength." The young men looked at each other. "Want of food," said one of them, "why, didn't you find taverns on the way?" "Yes," answered the stranger, sadly, "but I had no appetite; I came here in hopes the mountain air would give me one, but, with fatigue and fasting, I am faint." The group of youngsters drew together, and a whispered conversation commenced, which was followed by the clink of silver, as each one dropped a two shilling piece into the hat of the young man who had been most active in the negotiation. "Here," said the youth, holding forth the money, "an even exchange is no robbery. Set the old fiddle to work, and here is enough dimes to last you a week." The stranger blushed crimson, and the white lids drooped over his eyes, as if something had been said to wound him. "No," he said, with a quivering smile, "my poor music is not worth selling. Besides, my journey must end not far from this, or I have travelled slowly. Give me some clean water for my face and hands, that is all I ask." "Of course we will, with a famous supper, too, that would make a ghost hungry. Come with us up to uncle Nat's. Water, why there is a trough full at his back door, that you may bathe in all over if you like; and as for cider, we'll just try that before you say anything about it." The stranger arose and took up his violin; then lifting his large eyes, misty with fatigue, he said almost mournfully-- "Will some one give me his arm? I am very weary." The young men became at once silent and respectful with these words, for there was something of reverence in their sympathy with a being at once so feeble and so full of gentle dignity. "Let me carry the violin," said one, while another stout, brave fellow clasped the slender hand of the stranger, drew it over his own strong arm and led him carefully forth, hushing even the cheery tones of his voice as he spoke to the youth. Thus subdued from hilarity to kindness, the group of young men conducted their new friend to the Old Homestead and into the outer room, where the table was newly spread, and where uncle Nat stood with a huge brown cider pitcher in his hand from which he began to fill the glasses as the crowd of guests rushed in. Aunt Hannah, having performed her duty among her female guests, was busy in the milk-room, cutting up pies, dividing pound-cake into sections, and slicing cards of gingerbread, while uncle Nat presided diligently at the cider-cask.