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Never was floor scoured whiter than was the floor in
the long, dark kitchen at Snowdon, on the day when Mrs.
Clayton, with a mother's joy, said, “Josephine is coming
to-night.” Everything within told of recent renovation
and fixing up, and the large square room, whose four
bare walls had echoed back the first shrill cry of Uncle
Isaac's seven children, now looked really neat and pretty,
with its bright rag carpet, its polished brass andirons,
and its six flag-bottomed chairs, for the old red-backs had
long since been removed to the kitchen, their place being
supplied by six yellow chairs, which now in turn gave up
their long standing right to flag-bottoms of a more modern
date.

The two boys who lived nearest came home, the one
bringing several pounds of coffee, while the other brought
the snow-white sugar loaf, which was only to be used in
Josephine's cup, for “Josephine was coming home.”
Yes, “Josephine was coming home,” and Uncle Isaac finished
work full three hours earlier, in order that he might
have ample time to remove the heavy beard, don the
clean linen, and assume the blue, Sunday coat with the
brass buttons.

In one corner of the old rickety barn, a turkey, the
only turkey Isaac Clayton owned, had long been fattening,
and now in the oven was roasting, for “Josephine
was coming home;” and as the sun drew nearer and
nearer to the western horizon, Mrs. Clayton's step grew
lighter, while the smile on her face grew brighter and
more exultant. Again was the white counterpane on the

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best bed smoothed, and the large round pillows gently
patted, for Josephine's soft, fair cheek would ere long
nestle there. Alas! poor, fond, but disappointed mother!
The Josephine, so anxiously waited for, slept that night
on finer linen and softer couch than could be found, I
ween, 'neath the gable-roofed house at Snowdon.

Now the sun has set behind a pile of purple clouds,
and there is darkness in the nooks and corners of the
house at Snowdon. The maple fire in the large square
room is crackling and laughing and blazing, and casting
on the somber walls fantastic shadows, which chase each
other, “chassee, cross over, and then cross back,” while
to the dancing flames Uncle Isaac adds still another stick,
for it is a raw March night, and Josephine will be cold.
Upon the time-worn bridge which crosses Snowdon creek
is heard the sound of wheels; and the crack of the driver's
whip, together with the tramp of many feet, shows that
the stage is coming at last. But what! Why does not
the driver stop at the little board gate which stands so
invitingly open? Is he going to let Josephine dismount
in the muddy street?

Before these queries are satisfactorily solved, the stage
rattles on, and only Jimmy stands among them, beset by
inquiries for Josephine.

“Wait until I get to the fire and I will tell you,” said
he, as he blew his red fingers; but Mrs. Clayton could
not wait, and leading him toward the house, she said,
“Tell me, is Josephine sick?”

“Perfectly well, I believe,” he answered, and then,
when seated before the cheerful blaze, he told them why
he was alone; but of the insult he had received he said
nothing. That was a secret, which he kept to himself,
brooding over it until its venom ate into his inmost soul.

It was a sad group which gathered around the supper

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table that night; and, as over the dishes she had prepared
with so much care Jimmy saw his mother's tears fall, his
heart swelled with resentment, and he longed to tell her
how unworthy was the selfish girl who scorned her own
brother, but he did not, though he resolved, by an increased
kindness of manner, to compensate his honored
mother for the love which Josephine refused to give.
Noble Jimmy! In this world there are choice spirits like
yours, but their name is not legion!

Next morning the two older boys returned to their employment,
while Mr. Clayton sold to Mabel Howland, who
had long coveted them, the fairy-like slippers, which for
two weeks he had kept for his daughter; and amid a rain
of tears Mrs. Clayton put away in the drawer the lamb's-wool
stockings which she had knit for Josephine, weaving
in with each thread the golden fibers of a mother's undying
love. After his daily work was done, Jimmy stole
up to the little green trunk under the gable-roof where
lay the pile of bright half dollars he had hoarded for Josephine.
Counting out half, he threw them into his mother's
lap, and with the remainder repaired to the Snowdon
bookstore, exchanging them for their value in books.
The old desire for learning had returned, and early and
late was each leisure moment improved. His parents offered
no opposition, but approved his plan of reciting two
hours each day to Mr. Allen, the clergyman, who became
much interested in the young student. “Excelsior” was
Jimmy's motto, and his teacher became surprised at the
rapid improvement and the magnitude of the mind committed
to his care. Ere long, Jimmy's fame as a scholar
became known throughout the village, attracting toward
him many who had never before noticed the humble boy,
except, perhaps, to remark his fine face and figure. Now,
however, they came thronging about him, offering books

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and advice in large quantities. But Jimmy respectfully
declined their attentions, for Mr. Allen's library, to which
he had free access, contained whatever books he needed,
and his good sense, together with Mr. Allen's experience,
furnished all the advice necessary. At one time Mr. Allen
hoped that the brilliant talents, which he knew his
young friend possessed, would be devoted to the ministry;
but Jimmy's taste and disposition turned toward
the bar, and as Judge Howland was in want of a clerk,
Mr. Clayton was induced to give up the services of his
son, who now bent all his energies upon the study of law,
and the course of instruction which Mr. Allen had marked
out for him. Leaving him to pursue his onward path to
greatness, we will return to Josephine, who for some
time has been the bosom friend and companion of Anna
Hubbell.