—­M.F.  Tupper.

As Ishmael left the village by the eastern arm of the road a gay sleighing party dashed into it from the western one.  Horses prancing, bells ringing, veils flying, and voices chattering, they drew up before Hamlin’s shop.  The party consisted of Mr. Middleton, his wife, and his niece.

Mr. Middleton gave the reins to his wife and got out and went into the shop to make a few purchases.

When his parcels had been made up and paid for, he turned to leave the shop; but then, as if suddenly recollecting something, he looked back and inquired: 

“By the way, Hamlin, have those Histories come yet?”

“No, sir; but I shall write for them again by this evening’s mail; I cannot think what has delayed them.  However, sir, there is one copy that I can let you have, if that will be of any service.”

“Certainly, certainly; it is better than nothing; let me look at it,” said Mr. Middleton, coming back from the counter and taking the book from Hamlin’s hands.

In turning over the leaves he came to the presentation page, on which he recognized his own handwriting in the lines: 

     “Presented to Ishmael Worth, as a reward of merit, by his friend
     James Middleton.”

“Why, this is the very copy I gave to that poor little fellow on the hill, last August!  How did you come by it again?” asked Mr. Middleton, in astonishment.

“He brought it here to sell about an hour ago, sir, and as it was a perfectly fresh copy, and I knew you were in a hurry for some of them, I bought it of him,” replied the dealer.

“But why should the lad have sold his book?”

“Why, law, sir, you cannot expect boys of his class to appreciate books.  I dare say he wanted his money to spend in tops or marbles, or some such traps!” replied the dealer.

“Very like, very like! though I am sorry to think so of that little fellow.  I had hoped better things of him,” assented Mr. Middleton.

“Law, sir, boys will be boys.”

“Certainly; well, put the book in paper for me, and say what you are going to ask for it.”

“Well, sir, it is as good as new, and the work is much called for just about now in this neighborhood.  So I s’pose I shall have to ask you about three dollars.”

“That is the full price.  Did you give the boy that?” inquired the gentleman.

“Well, no, sir; but you know I must have my own little profit,” replied the dealer, reddening.

“Certainly,” assented Mr. Middleton, taking out his purse—­a delicate, effeminate-looking article, that seemed to have been borrowed from his wife, paying Hamlin and carrying off the book.

As he got into the sleigh and took the reins with one hand, hugging up his parcels and his purse loosely to his breast with the other, Mrs. Middleton said: 

“Now, James, don’t go and plant my purse on the road, as you did your pocketbook this morning!”