and then you can take it back. I know I can trust you."

And so Frank could. The next day Charley carried back the book to its owner, without so much as looking to see how the story ended. And from that day he became so devoted to Frank, that his companions used sometimes to laugh at him, and ask if he were Frank Elston's shadow.

CHAPTER XXII.

"Who is the honest man?

He that doth still and strongly good pursue,
To God, his neighbour, and himself most true :
Whom neither force nor fawning can

Unpin, or wrench from giving all their due."

HERBERT.

THREE years had passed away since Frank Elston left Fairlegh. He had often visited the dear old place since then, and he could see but little change in it. Mr. Eggar still pursued his duties as village schoolmaster. Squire Darby still lived there in the winter, and went away in the summer. Mr. Andrewes still remained supreme master in the Fairlegh gardens. There were changes enough, certainly, in the lads who worked under him: for every time Frank paid a visit to Fairlegh, he found the one whom he had last seen there was gone, and a fresh face greeted him. Mrs. Eggar prophesied that it would be so to the end. It always had been

so before Frank came, and now Frank was gone it always would be so again. No one but Frank Elston ever had been able to please Mr. Andrewes, and no one but Frank Elston ever would be able to please him. But in nothing else could Frank see much change. A few more wrinkles, perhaps, on good Mrs. Eggar's kind face,—a few more gray hairs under the neat, white cap. A little heavier pressure of Mr. Eggar's arm upon his own, when he walked up and down the garden, as in former days, talking to him: but nothing more. Mr. Chester and Ruth lived still in the same pretty lodge amongst the green beech-trees. Ruth's face was as bright- Ruth's smile as sweet- Ruth's voice as gentle as they had been when Frank left Fairlegh, three years before. Some one expressed their surprise one day, in Frank's hearing, that so lovely a young woman as Ruth Chester should still be ornamenting her father's house, and not any one's else. Mrs. Eggar answered-Frank listened eagerly to her answer,—

"There's been many who have wanted to gather the flower, that I know of."

"And the father would not let them into his garden to get at it?”

"No, not that so much -for once he was very well disposed to see it transplanted to another garden, where he thought it would be well taken

care of, and as well settled as he could wish to see it."

"Well, and why wasn't it?”

Frank listened still more eagerly.

"I don't think the flower would leave its own ground."

There was no change in Ruth, that Frank could see. All the change was in himself, or rather in his circumstances, for he was the same Frank Elston, honest, true, high-principled,—a little older -a little more business-looking-but in all other things the same. His circumstances were, however, very different from what they had been when, three years ago, he left the village of Fairlegh for the town of Beverton. He had worked steadily under Mr. Johnson for the first year of his service, and had applied himself so energetically and assiduously to the business, that, at the end of that time, Mr. Johnson had not hesitated to make him his foreman; and now the chief part of the business lay in his hands. Mr. Johnson's health had failed still more of late. injurious to him.

Confinement to the shop was Country air was essential-and

he grew more and more fond of his bright little house in the country. Frank had grown very fond of it, too. He had not time to visit it often; but, whenever he did, the little old gentleman welcomed him kindly, and he had spent many very pleasant

evenings with him in the same bright parlour where he had stood three years before, with dusty clothes and an anxious heart. Frank was in this same parlour now, but not as then, standing at the door, tired and dusty. He was sitting on one side of a table, on which a comfortable tea was prepared; while on the other side sat the particular old gentleman, deeply engaged at that moment in giving some very particular directions. Frank was listening attentively-listening, as he always did, to every word which fell from his master's lips.

"I've never left the place before," he said. "It will be forty years this Christmas since I have been five miles out of Beverton, and I don't fancy going. But you will see to everything, I know, just as if I were here. I can't help going, you see, after getting such a letter as this. My only brother!-I did not know I had one, for it's more than thirty years since he sailed for America, and was never heard of afterwards. He wasn't one of your sort, Elston. He was the wildest fellow you ever saw, and it was like trying to tame a wild hawk to get him to settle down to business. He was the youngest, and my mother was over partial to him. And after she was dead, I'm afraid I tried to keep him in too much, and forced the business on him too hard. We never made it out together. We were too opposite characters; and at length he gave up the