them on the fly-leaves. And where a writer dies and I get a printed obituary notice I paste that in the back of the book. I think it adds something to a volume to know about the writer and to have his or her autograph."
"Fine, Professor!" cried Dave, and tapped him on the shoulder. "My, but it is nice here! Much better than the old farm, eh, and the poorhouse that I came from!"
The old gentleman nodded several times, and the tears stood in his eyes.
"Yes! yes! It is very, very nice. I have found real friends, and I am thankful, very thankful!" And he continued on his way down the hall, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief.
On the stairs Dave met Jessie. She was in a fresh dress of white, and had a rose in her hair.
"How pretty you look!" he whispered, as he took her arm. "Just like a—a picture!" And then Jessie blushed and that made her look prettier than ever, if such a thing were possible.
Dave's father and Mr. Wadsworth had come in, and both were glad to see the boy back. Soon dinner was announced, and all sat down to the long table, Dave between his sister and Jessie. It was old Professor Potts who asked grace; and then some rapid-fire conversation followed, the girls and the others demanding to know all about
