"Well, Mr. Nixon," said Gerald, "are you ready to move?"

 

"I don't understand. Where am I to move to?"

 

"I have hired a house for you—the one till recently occupied by a man whom they call Jim Morris. I have hired it completely furnished, and all you will have to do is to walk in."

 

The old man seemed almost bewildered by the suddenness of the proposition.

 

"But I can't walk so far," he said.

 

"You won't have to. I have a wagon at the door; we will help you into it, and in fifteen minutes you will find yourself in a more comfortable home."

 

"If you think it best," said the old man, hesitatingly.

 

"I do; and so will you when you have made the change."

 

"Then I will go."

 

"What do you want carried with you?"

 

"I am used to this chair."

 

"Very well, we will take it. Is there anything else?"

 

Thomas Nixon pointed² to the tin box.

 

"Oh, yes; we mustn't forget that. Is there anything else?"

 

"No."

 

"Then, Mr. Carlyle, will you help get Mr. Nixon into the wagon?"

 

Dennis Carlyle, who was a stout³, muscular young man, lent a hand, and the old man soon found himself in the wagon, sitting in his favorite chair.

 

"Sha'n't we need to carry some dishes? There's a few in yonder closet."

 

"Not to-day, Mr. Nixon. We shall have all the dishes and kitchen utensils⁴ left by Mr. Morris."

 

It was not long before they found themselves at the door of the new home. Gerald helped Mr. Nixon out of the wagon, and led the way into the house. All was neat and comfortable, and furnished a very favorable contrast to the dilapidated cabin where Nixon had lived so many years. There was a

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