The passing of five years over a country village generally brings but little change in the existing conditions, but even in this prosaic atmosphere of easy going methods and action, the calendar marks some days and events of more than passing notice.

Doctor Hissong had served his term in the Legislature, and proudly pointed to his record in passing the bill for the construction of extra locks and dams on the Kentucky river.

Shawn was attending lectures at the Medical College in Louisville, Doctor Hissong acting as his preceptor and paying all the expenses necessary to his medical education, and now that he had been two years in school and was nearing the end of the course, Shawn felt that life held out a hope for him far beyond the dreams of his earlier years, and his breast swelled with gratitude to those who had shown him such friendship and confidence; to the kind old doctor, who trusted him to his every word and deed, and to Mrs. Alden, who wrote him such beautiful and touching letters, reminding him of his duty to God and his fellow-men, and as he laid each one of her letters aside, it seemed that a newer strength and some higher motive filled his heart.

And there were other letters whose coming he anxiously awaited. The small, round handwriting on the envelope sent the glow of happiness into his eyes; the dear, sweet letters from Lallite, with marginal notes in every conceivable nook and corner of the page; the dainty tid-bits of love. When these letters came, Shawn took them and wandered down to the stream he loved so well. Lallite seemed associated with the murmuring ripples, the tiny pebbles of the beach, and the shimmering bosom of the river. As he sat near the drowsy rumbling falls with her letter in his hand, it seemed that the river flowing past breathed some tender message from the village above and linked his heart into a closer and fonder memory of sweeter hours. And these letters laden with love's tender offerings, with here and there some whisperings of loneliness, some unlooked-for digression embracing the gossip of the neighborhood, or some delicious speculation as to his fidelity and love.

One day, just about three weeks before his graduation, as he sat at the dinner table, a servant came in and placed a telegram beside his plate. Shawn opened the envelope and read, "Come home at once. Dave Budlong."

Something seemed to almost paralyze his heart-strings; some terrible apprehension took possession of him. His mother? Mrs. Alden? Lallite?

Through the long, dragging hours which followed until the evening mail-boat started up the river, he wandered in an agony of suspense.

The river had lost its charm, and the strains of music from the orchestra on the boat, fell on his ears in saddened tones. He walked the hurricane deck, and bent his gaze upon the distant river bends, as counting the dragging miles. At midnight the boat reached Skarrow. Dave Budlong, the old lawyer, was there to meet Shawn. Shawn grasped his hand and eagerly asked, "Tell me what is the matter!"

"Doc' Hissong is very low and has been calling for you ever since last night," said Budlong.

They went up the hill to the office. Old Brad met them at the door, "Praise Gawd, you've come, Shawn—he gwine mi'ty fas'—he nearin' de Valley uv de Shadder." Shawn went in, and as he saw the old doctor's white head on the pillow, the tears gushed from his eyes. He went to the bedside and took the old physician's hand.

"Doctor, it's Shawn; I've come."

A glad beam came into the fast-closing eyes, and the feeble voice struggled into a fitful tone, "Shawn, my boy, God has forgiven me—I don't know how it may be—I've tried to think it out, but somehow I feel that in the long journey I must now take alone, that God will let the light burn for me—I've remembered you, Shawn."

The head sank back upon the pillow. Old Brad was sobbing in the corner. From the hill came the weird tones of a whip-poor-will, and from the far-away bend of the river, the echoes of a steamer's wheel. The moon shot a beam of light through the window and the rays seemed to rest tenderly upon the calm and gentle face. Doctor Hissong's spirit had flown.

"Clear the room," said Budlong, "I want to speak in private with Shawn."

Taking a paper from his pocket he said, "Shawn, Doctor Hissong told me to read you this, his will. I am here to do it. I drew it up."

The old lawyer stood by the mantlepiece, and by the flickering lamplight read: