looked thoughtfully about him.

The hill was by no means high, and five minutes' walk brought him
to the summit. From this spot he had a fine view of the village
which lay at his feet embowered in trees. A narrow river wound
like a silver thread through the landscape. Groups of trees on
either bank bent over as if to see themselves reflected in the
rapid stream. At one point a dam had been built across from bank
to bank, above which the river widened and deepened, affording an
excellent skating-ground for the boys in the cold days of
December and January. A whirring noise was heard. The grist-mill
had just commenced its work for the day. Down below the dam the
shallow water eddied and whirled, breaking in fleecy foam over
protuberant rocks which lay in the river-bed.

The old village church with its modest proportions occupied a
knoll between the hill and the river. It was girdled about with
firs intermingled with elms. Near-by was a small triangular
common, thickly planted with trees, each facing a separate
street. Houses clustered here and there. Comfortable buildings
they were, but built evidently rather for use than show. The
architect had not yet come to the assistance of the village
carpenter.

Seen in the cheering light of the rising sun, Henry Morton could
not help feeling that a beautiful picture was spread out before
him.

"After all," he said thoughtfully, "we needn't go abroad for
beauty, when we can find so much of it at our own doors. Yet,