The little black house no longer existed, for it had become the little paradise of which he had dreamed, only that the house seemed whiter, the blinds greener, and the fence more attractive than his fancy had pictured them.

His mother, after a couple of years, at Bobby's earnest pleadings, ceased to close shoes and take in washing; but she had enough and to spare, for her son's salary was now six hundred dollars.

His kind employer boarded him for nothing, (much against Bobby's will, I must say,) so that every month he carried to his mother thirty dollars, which more than paid her expenses.
* * * * * Eight years have passed by since Bobby--we beg his pardon; he is now Mr.Robert Bright--entered the store of Mr.Bayard.

He has passed from the boy to the man.

Over the street door a new sign has taken the place of the old one, and the passer-by reads,-- BAYARD & BRIGHT, BOOKSELLERS AND PUBLISHERS.
The senior partner resorts to his counting room every morning from the force of habit; but he takes no active part in the business.