CHAPTER IV.
A STRANGE REQUEST.
The next morning, before it was well light, and at a time when brisk youth and slow age were seeking the place of confession, Henry Witherspoon went to the priest, not to acknowledge a sin, but to avow a deep gratitude.

The journey was begun early; it was in July.

The morning was braced with a cool breeze, the day was cloudless, and night's lingering gleam of silver melted in the gold of morn.

Young Witherspoon's impressive nature was up with joy or down with sadness.
The prospect of his new life was a happiness, and the necessity to leave his old uncle in a foreign country was a sore regret; so happiness and regret strove against each other, but happiness, advantaged with a buoyant heart as a contest-ground, soon ended the struggle.
On a brown hill-top they met the sunrise, and from a drowsy roosting-place they flushed a flock of greenish birds.

Witherspoon stood in his stirrups and waved his hat.