match between the yachts of the village; in short, every thing looked
exactly as it did when, just fifteen months before, he had sailed down
the river on that same steamer, on his way to Portland.

As soon as the steamer was made fast to the wharf, Frank gave his
trunk in charge of a drayman, and set out on foot for the cottage;
for, impatient as he was to get home, he wished to have time to enjoy
the sight of each familiar object along the road; besides, he wished
to come in upon his folks (who little dreamed that he was so near to)
suddenly, and take them by surprise. Every thing in the village, and
along the road, looked as natural as ever; not a tree, bush, or stump
seemed to have been removed. At length he reached the bend in the road
which brought him in sight of his home. He stopped to gaze upon the
scene. Not a thing about the house or orchard had been changed. He
noticed that a part of the rose-bush which covered his window, and
which had been broken off in a storm the night before he left, still
swung loose in the wind; and even his fish-pole, which he had hung up
under the eaves of his museum, had not been touched.

While he stood thus, trying in vain to choke back the tears, he was
aroused by a well-known bark; the next moment Brave bounded over the
fence, and came toward his master at the top of his speed. He had been
lying in his accustomed place in front of the house; he had seen Frank
approaching, and had recognized him in an instant. Frank wound his
arms around the faithful animal's neck, and, after caressing him for
a moment, again started toward the house, Brave leading the way, with
every demonstration of joy. As soon as Frank succeeded in quieting
him, he walked through the gate, noiselessly opened the door leading
into the hall, and paused to listen.