Did such an interview ever take place, I wonder?

But we are talking of that evening so long ago, when Williams seemed the lucky one, and things looked so black to Salmon, after he had asked of his uncle bread, and received (as he then thought) a stone.

“Well, then I don’t know what the deuse you will do!” said Williams, knocking the ashes out of his pipe.

You would have said that his hopes of Salmon were likewise ashes:  he had entertained himself with them a little while; now they were burnt out; and he seemed to knock them out of his pipe, too, into the fire.  He got up, yawned, said he pitied ——­, and went to bed.

In a little while his breathing denoted that he was fast asleep.

Salmon went to bed, too; but did he sleep?

Do not think, after all this, that he gave way to weak despondency.  Something within him seemed to say, “What you have you must obtain through earnest struggle and endeavor.  It is only commonplace people and weaklings who find the hinges of life all smoothly oiled.  Great doors do not open so easily.  Be brave, be strong, be great.”  It was the voice of Faith speaking within him.

The next morning he arose, more a man than he had ever felt before.  This long and severe trial had been necessary to develop what was in him.  His self-reliance, his strength of character, his faith in God’s providence,—­these were tried, and not found wanting.

Still the veil of the future remained impenetrable.  Not a gleam of light shone through its sable folds.  He could only watch for its uplifting, and sit still.

“A bad beginning makes a good ending,” said Williams, one evening, to comfort him.

“Yes,—­and a good beginning sometimes makes a bad ending.  I had a lesson on that subject once.  When I was about eleven years old, I started from Keene, with one of my sisters, to go and visit another sister, who was married and living at Hookset Falls, over on the Merrimac.  It was in winter, and we set out in a sleigh with one horse.  I was driver.  My idea of sleighing was bells and fast driving; and I put the poor beast up to all he knew.  We intended to reach a friend’s house, at Peterborough, before night; but I found I had used up our horse-power before we had made much more than half the journey.  Then came on a violent snow-squall, which obliterated the track.  It grew dark; we were blinded by the storm; we got into drifts, and finally quite lost our way.  Not a house was in sight, and the horse was tired out.  The prospect of a night in the storm, and only a winding-sheet of snow to cover us, made me bitterly regret the foolish ambition with which I had set out.  At last my sister, whose eyes were better than mine, saw a light.  We went wallowing through the drifts towards it, and discovered a house.  Here we got a boy to guide us; and so at last reached our friend’s, in as sad a plight as ever two such mortals were in.  Since which time,” added Salmon, “I have rather inclined to the opinion that slow beginnings, with steady progress, are best.”