CHAPTER V.
The wind blew hollow frae the hills, By fits the sun's departing beam Looked on the fading yellow woods That waved o'er Lugar's winding stream.
BURNS.
He five dollars were gone.

No matter -- they could be wanted.
They must be.

Winthrop had no books either.

What had he?
A wardrobe large enough to be tied up in a pocket-handkerchief; his father's smile; his mother's tremulous blessing; and the tears of his little brother and sister.
He set out with his wardrobe in his hand, and a dollar in his pocket, to walk to Asphodel.

It was a walk of thirteen miles.
The afternoon was chill, misty and lowering; November's sad- colour in the sky, and Winter's desolating heralds all over the ground.