Such a queer feeling as possessed him all the next day, while he went around the village! He went _every_where. He felt like walking through every street, and stepping on every stone on which his feet had trod in the old life, now utterly gone from him. He wandered down to the river-bank, where he had lain that summer morning and envied the fishes; and, standing there, thanked God for the mission class in Mr. Holbrook's Sabbath school. Thence to the cemetery, where by the side of little Johnny's grave the new life had been commenced. There was a long grave beside the short one now; and, standing there, he thanked God for the hope which he had of meeting the father and the baby in heaven. Thence to the great elm-tree at the foot of the hill; and, standing there, he took out once more the little red Bible, and turned the leaves lovingly; lingered over the name written by Mr. Holbrook's hand, turned again to the first verse which he had ever read from its pages: "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path." Time and again had he proved the truth of that verse. There, under that very tree, it had helped him to fight battles with Satan and come off conqueror. And he thanked God for the Bible. After that he went directly to the village; just looked in at the meat market for the sake of the old days. Somebody told Mr. Dewey who was coming, and he was just ready to say, "Hallo, Tip!" but instead, he came around from behind the counter, and, holding out his hand, said, "How do you do, Lewis? Glad to see you." Something, either in the city-made clothes or the quiet air of dignity with which they were worn, made him dislike to say "Hallo, Tip!" to the tall young man before him. Mr. Minturn shook him heartily by the hand. "Never rejoiced over any one's luck more in my life!" he said; then, in the same breath, "How's Ray? Oh yes, I see how it is, poor fellow! And you love him too; of course, every one does." There was still the schoolroom to visit, and as Edward went up the familiar walk he wished Bob Turner could have been with him to make this call. But Bob was probably rushing like a top through the city store, without a thought of the old schoolhouse or the miserable days which he had spent there. Mr. Burrows himself answered the knock, and gave him a hearty greeting. Three years had made changes there. Edward found himself looking eagerly towards the back row of seats fur the old faces,--Will, Howard, Ellis, and half a dozen others,--before he remembered that they had long since entered higher schools. The boys whom he hid left plodding through long division were filling those back seats now, and leading their classes in algebra and Latin. He sat down near the blackboard to watch the progress of Joe Bartlett through an example in division. And behold, he was doing that old never-to-be-forgotten example about the cows and sheep! He picked up an arithmetic eagerly. "Mr. Burrows, do you remember that example?'