"As for me, I remained where I fell until you kindly brought me home with you this afternoon. [Illustration: "I COULD SEE THE BUSY STREET OF A LARGE CITY."] "Now, my young friend, I will conclude. I have done my work in this world, so far, as faithfully as I knew how, and I think I have fulfilled the purposes for which I was made. I hope I have proved to you that pins are of some importance, for I came very near causing the death of one person and saved the life of another. If you do your work, no matter how small it may be, as well as I have, you will be as happy as I am, perhaps not joyful, but you will at least be satisfied with yourself, which is a great deal better than being satisfied with others. I am through." The pin stopped. "Now shall I take you back to the stump?" I asked. But there was no answer given. I repeated the question, but still I received no reply. Then I took my acquaintance up carefully, and carried it back to the stump, laying it in a place sheltered from the wet, as that worthy had requested. "Here is your friend the pin," I said. But the stump made no reply. So I turned sadly and went home, and up to my room, to meditate on the singular silence of both the pin and the stump. The supper bell startled me and I arose from my chair and my reverie, and hastened down stairs. As I entered the dining-room, one of the boarders said: "Why, where have you been all the afternoon?" "Oh, I took a walk down to Racket Brook, and then I stayed up in my room the rest of the time." (_I_ was not going to tell about the pin and his story.) "Are you sure you didn't come down again after you went up just after dinner?" "Yes, I did," I indignantly replied. "I peeped into your room this afternoon, and you were asleep by your desk." "You were, I know," assented my little brother. "I saw you way down in the orchard, and you were asleep with your head on the window sill." I made no reply, but went up to my room as soon as I had finished my supper, and spent the evening in writing my composition. And what do you think it was? Why, just the story of the pin as he told it to me that afternoon. The children wanted to know if it was true, after I had come down from the platform, having been greatly applauded by the audience (the fat author being in it). I replied that, every word of it was true, and went with them to the shore of the brook, where we found the identical stump with the young beech-tree growing beside it. Where was the pin? I do not know. It wasn't there, though, much to my chagrin. When I got home, the fat author wanted to know if I would let him have my composition for one chapter of his book. I was perfectly willing, but when he showed me the chapter afterward it was headed "A Boy's Dream." And he had it that a boy had gone to sleep on the window-sill, and had dreamed--my composition! When I returned it to him he asked me what I thought of it. "I like it." "And the title?" I was silent for a moment--then I said,