114 



CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



There was a shaking of hands. A promise on both 

 sides : The door closed : and the momentary flush of 

 warmth fell away from a pair of old cheeks, like a red 

 oak- leaf from the bare bough of November, as the 

 letters ' marked 1 to 14 ' were slowly taken up one 

 by one, and glanced at with the leaden eye of 

 habitude. 



