were very dim, and the handkerchief she waved was very wet.

My transit from The Gables to the village depot was a funny
mixture of good wishes and good byes, mud-puddles and shopping.
A December twilight is not the most cheering time to enter upon
a somewhat perilous enterprise, and, but for the presence of
Vashti and neighbor Thorn, I fear that I might have added a drop
of the briny to the native moisture of--

"The town I left behind me;"

though I'd no thought of giving out: oh, bless you, no!
When the engine screeched "Here we are," I clutched my escort
in a fervent embrace, and skipped into the car with as blithe a
farewell as if going on a bridal tour--though I believe brides
don't usually wear cavernous black bonnets and fuzzy brown
coats, with a hair-brush, a pair of rubbers, two books, and a
bag of ginger-bread distorting the pockets of the same. If I
thought that any one would believe it, I'd boldly state that I
slept from C. to B., which would simplify matters immensely; but
as I know they wouldn't, I'll confess that the head under
the funereal coal-hod fermented with all manner of high
thoughts and heroic purposes "to do or die,"--perhaps both; and
the heart under the fuzzy brown coat felt very tender with the
memory of the dear old lady, probably sobbing over her
army socks and the loss of her topsy-turvy Trib. At this
juncture I took the veil, and what I did behind it is nobody's
business; but I maintain that the soldier who cries when his
mother says "Good bye," is the boy to fight best, and
die bravest, when the time comes, or go back to her better