wrought in his appearance.  His step was far less brisk than formerly, his hair was fast turning gray, and I fancied that his countenance wore even a more unhappy and discontented look than usual.  I was then too young to understand what I have since known that his dissatisfied expression was caused by his having failed to find happiness in the possession of worldly wealth, and as yet he had not learned to seek happiness from any other source.

The time soon came when we must bid a reluctant adieu to our friends at Elmwood.  It was decided that I was to spend another year at Fulton.  Charley Gray was to return to his studies for an indefinite time, and sad enough we all felt when the morning of our separation came.  The steam-cars soon bore us from the pleasant village of Elmwood where we had spent six happy weeks.  Aunt Lucinda allowed that she felt herself ten years younger than before she left home and declared her intention of accompanying me on my next visit to my mother.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Very welcome was the first view we gained of the old red farm-house upon our return, and still more welcome was the cheerful and mild countenance of Grandma Adams who, as soon as Uncle Nathan set out to meet the train, had taken her place at the front door to watch for our arrival.  It was many years since she had been so long separated from her daughter, and the six weeks which had passed seemed to her more like six years.  For so long had my aunt toiled on at the old homestead, “year in and year out” without scarcely bestowing a thought upon the world beyond, that the kindly spirit of sociality had nearly died out within her; but this visit with its many scenes of enjoyment, as well as the kind attentions of her friends, had again called into action that spirit of friendly intercourse with others without the exercise of which the warmest heart is prone to become cold and selfish.  She seemed hardly like the same one who left home six weeks ago, as she presided at the supper table with such a cheerful, even lively, manner on this first evening of our return.  The Widow Green insisted that my aunt should take no part in the household cares that evening, but advising her to sit idle when there was work to do, was throwing words away, and she was soon busy clearing away the supper table, and, as she said, “setting” things to rights generally.  The lamps were soon lighted, and, though it was only the middle of September, a wood fire blazed in the fire place, and shed a ruddy glow upon the brown ceiling and whitewashed walls of the large clean kitchen which when there was no company, answered the purpose of sitting room as well.  Uncle Nathan said he thought they should treat Aunt Lucinda as company for that one evening and occupy the parlor, to which kind offer she replied by begging of him “to try and be sensible for one evening at any rate.”  “Well” said Uncle Nathan, “remember when I go off and visit about