And so things went far a month and better.  Ever’thing had quieted down, and Ezry and a lot o’ hands, and me and Steve amongst ’em, was a-workin’ on the frame-work of another mill.  It was purty weather, and we was all in good sperits, and it ’peared like the whole neighberhood was interested—­and they _-was_, too—­women-folks and ever’body.  And that day Ezry’s woman and amongst ’em was a-gittin’ up a big dinner to fetch down to us from the house; and along about noon a spruce-lookin’ young feller, with a pale face and a black beard, like, come a-ridin’ by and hitched his hoss, and comin’ into the crowd, said “Howdy,” pleasant like, and we all stopped work as he went on to say ’at he was on the track of a feller o’ the name o’ ‘Williams,’ and wanted to know ef we could give him any infermation ’bout sich a man.  Told him maybe,—­’at a feller bearin’ that name desappeared kind o’ myster’ous from our neighberhood ’bout five weeks afore that.  “My God!” says he, a-turnin’ paler’n ever, “am I too late?  Where did he go, and was his sister and her baby with him?” Jist then I ketched sight o’ the women-folks a-comin’ with the baskets, and Annie with ’em, with a jug o’ worter in her hand; so I spoke up quick to the stranger, and says I, “I guess ‘his sister and baby’ wasn’t along,” says I, “but his wife and baby’s some’eres here in the neighberhood yit.”  And then a-watchin’ him clos’t, I says, suddent, a-pin’tin’ over his shoulder, “There his woman is now—­that one with the jug, there.”  Well, Annie had jist stooped to lift up one o’ the little girls, when the feller turned, and the’r eyes met, “Annie!  My wife!” he says; and Annie she kind o’ give a little yelp like and come a-flutterin’ down in his arms; and the jug o’ worter rolled clean acrost the road, and turned a somerset and knocked the cob out of its mouth and jist laid back and hollered “Good—­good—­good—­good—­good!” like as ef it knowed what was up and was jist as glad and tickled as the rest of us.

SWEET-KNOT AND GALAMUS

AN OLD SWEETHEART.

  As one who cons at evening o’er an album all alone,
  And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,
  So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,
  I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.

  The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise,
  As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes,
  And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke
  Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke.

  ’Tis a fragrant retrospection—­for the loving thoughts that start
  Into being are like perfumes from the blossom of the heart;
  And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine—­
  When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweeheart of mine.

  Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings,
  The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings,
  I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme
  When care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream