After supper, Mr. Preston again went out to make some calls.  He invited Oscar to go with him, but he preferred to remain in the hotel.  He lounged awhile in the bar-room, as it was called (though there was no bar in it), listening to the conversation of the men who had gathered there.  At length, beginning to grow sleepy, he retired to his chamber, taking with him a queer little lamp the landlord gave him, which appeared to hold only about a thimblefull of oil.  Oscar thought it was a stingy contrivance, and had some notion of sitting up to see how long it would burn; but his eyelids grew heavy, and he gave up the idea.  Throwing off his clothing, he extinguished his diminutive lamp, and took possession of one of the beds in the room, of which there were two.  As he composed himself to sleep, a slight sense of lonesomeness stole over him, when he remembered that he was alone in a strange house and a strange city, more than a hundred miles from his home; and almost unconsciously he found himself reverently repeating the little prayer he had been taught by his mother in infancy, but which of late years, in his sad waywardness, he had outgrown and almost forgotten: 

  “Now I lay me down to sleep,
  I pray the lord my soul to keep;
  If I should die before I wake,
  I pray the lord my soul to take.”

He had occasionally repeated to himself this simple but appropriate evening petition during his late illness; but, strange to tell, for several years previous to that time, the thought of asking anything of the great Giver of all good had scarcely ever entered his mind.

Oscar was soon fast asleep, and the next thing he was conscious of was the striking of a strange church-clock, that awoke him in the morning.  His uncle was dressing himself, and the sun was shining in at the window.  For a moment, he was puzzled to determine where he was; but his recollection returned when his uncle remarked: 

“Come, Oscar, it is time to get up,—­we have got to be at the depot in an hour.”

Oscar jumped out of bed, and was dressed and ready for the breakfast table before the bell rang.  After the morning meal was despatched,—­for it was literally a work of despatch, judging from the celerity with which the heaping plates of hot biscuits and beef-steak disappeared from the long table,—­Mr. Preston settled with the landlord, and proceeded with Oscar to the railroad depot.

“How much further have we got to go?” inquired Oscar, after they had taken their seat in the car.

“About one hundred and twenty miles,” replied his uncle; “and thirty-five of it will be in a stage-coach—­that is the worst of the whole journey.”

“I shall like that part of it first-rate, I guess,” said Oscar.  “If they have good horses, I know I shall.”

“You will find out how you like it, before night,” added Mr. Preston, with a smile.