The paling was low, though he well remembered the time that it had seemed a high wall to him; and he looked over into the old garden.
There were more seeds and gayer flowers than there used to be, but there were the old trees still--the very tree under which he had lain a thousand times when tired of playing in the sun, and felt the soft, mild sleep of happy boyhood steal gently upon him.

There were voices within the house.

He listened, but they fell strangely upon his ear; he knew them not.

They were merry too; and he well knew that his poor old mother could not be cheerful, and he away.

The door opened, and a group of little children bounded out, shouting and romping.