office who told him that his father’s condition was still unchanged. He had received word to tell Mr. Morton that he was to take the train for Cleveland without delay.
At daybreak, the following morning, he was once again in Cleveland, the city of his childhood, the place of his home. The coachman, an ancient servitor of the Mortons, greeted him with welcoming smiles and glad words. Even the horses knew him and neighed as he stroked their manes. The drive through the deserted streets, so familiar to him, brought back to his mind so many memories that he could scarce see the houses for the moisture in his eyes. The tinkling of the silver harness, the hoof-beats of the spirited animals were music to his ears. Ah, at last, there was the tall iron gate that led to home! With a bound he was through it and running swiftly up the pebbled approach he almost fell into the waiting, outstretched arms of his mother and