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46 at its conclusion. The promise was made with some reluctance, but not a little relief at the prospect of an hour or two beneath a roof; while the interim in the market was in itself was an entertainment for one to whom the scene was new. Tom never forgot the sweet smell of the early, costly peas, the picturesque groups of market-women busy shelling them in the shade, the red-stained pottles of premature strawberries, or the thousand flower-pots gay and odorous with the flowers of spring, which occupied his attention in the waggoners absence. Nor was his interest greater than his personal satisfaction in the scene; it made a wonderfully happy ending to an unworthy phase of his existence, a wonderfully stimulating prelude to the new life begun with this day. Indeed, his heart rose steadily with the sun, and was singing with brave resolve when at length the waggoner returned.

“I doubt I’ve been a long time,” said Butterfield. “It’ll be very near six o’clock.”

“Ten past,” said Tom whipping out the golden nucleus of his future fortunes, which he had even then been hugging in his pocket.

“Mercy on us!” cried the other.

“You thought it earlier?”

“Ay, I did; by gum, though, that’s a fine watch you’ve gotten!”

And Tom felt a new light beating on his shabby clothes, and himself flushing painfully under a scrutiny which began with round-eyed wonder and ended in a series of approving nods.

“I see—I see,” added simple Butterfield, in quite a reverent voice; “you’d rather starve than part with you. I’m jealous it belonged some one else before you;