I must hurry home.
It was impossible to remain despondent long.

The landlady came only once a week, I reflected, as I walked, and the rest of the time I was surrounded by friends.

Everybody was good to me, at home, of course, and at school; and there was Miss Dillingham, and her friend who took me out in the country to see the autumn leaves, and her friend's friend who lent me books, and Mr.Hurd, who put my poems in the "Transcript," and gave me books almost every time I came, and a dozen others who did something good for me all the time, besides the several dozen who wrote me such nice letters.

Friends?
If I named one for every block I passed I should not get through before I reached home.
There was Mr.Strong, too, and he wanted me to meet his wife and little girl.

And Mr.Pastor! I had almost forgotten Mr.Pastor.