It seems to me now that these bows were like the touch of frosted
woodbine in a yellowing elm, though at the moment I must have been
unequal to this fancy. I saw, too, the tiny chain that clasped her fair
throat, her dress of pale blue, and, most wonderful of all, two tassels
that danced from the tops of her trim little boots. The air was indeed
too heavy with beauty. But the reading lesson continued.

The years that stretch between that time and this have not bereaved me
of the knowledge that Mr. Barton graciously accommodated Hiram Strosser,
after vainly seeking to induce "Mr. Hawley, a wealthy merchant of Milk
Street," to share half the risk.

At this point a row of stars on the page indicated a lapse of ten years.
Mr. Barton, "pale and agitated," examines with deepening despair, "page
after page of his ponderous ledger." At last he exclaims, "I am ruined,
utterly ruined!" "How so?" inquires Hiram Strosser, who enters the room
just in time to hear the cry. Mr. Barton explains,--the failure of
Perleg, Jackson & Co. of London--news brought on last steamer--creditors
pressing him.

"'What amount would tide you over this crisis?' asks Hiram Strosser,
respectfully.

"'Seventy-five thousand dollars!'

"'Then, sir, you shall have it,' replied Hiram, and stepping to the desk
he drew a check for the full amount."

Nor can I ever forget the stroke of poetic justice with which the