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 CHAPTER XXI.

 A SAD HOME-COMING.

 There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
 And, with his sickle keen,
 He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
 And the flowers that grow between.
 "' Shall I have nought that is fair ?' saith he,
 'Have nought but the bearded grain ?
 Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me
 I will give them all back again.'
 He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
 He kissed their drooping leaves;
 It was for the Lord of Paradise
 He bound them in his sheaves.
 Oh not in cruelty, not in wrath,
 The Reaper came that day;
 'Twas an Angel visited the earth,
 And took the flowers away."
 -L ongfellow.

 HEN Jack found himself safely in familiar

 ground, and reflected that after all he
 had not seen the object which he so
dreaded, he breathed more freely, and halted to wipe

the beads of perspiration from his forehead. In a

few minutes he was again on his way up the avenue,

and as every turn in it brought the well-known