There were fourteen of us between the
ages of fifteen and twenty-one years. The remainder were older. We
filled a table in the reading room. Little we cared if we sat crowded
close together, for we chose our mates. Some were pupils of the school,
the rest were youths of the Association.
In the afternoon we wandered once more in the beautiful pine woods. We
sang once more the "Silver Moon" together as we roved about, or sat on
the big boulder on the knoll at the foot of the lightning-struck tree.
We recounted old times and seasons; we cracked our merry jokes and ate
our simple treat, and then parted. In a few days the wide world was
between us, and forever. Some went East, and some West, one to Port-au-
Prince, and others to different villages and towns in New England. Of
the number, four remained in Boston; I was one of them.
Reader, my reminiscences are told, but not all told! They are like the
sultan's story that was to last a thousand years. To all but the one
interested there was an unending sameness in it, but to that one, it
was his life.
It is natural to wish to know of the writer what became of the persons
who formed this little band of devotees. I can but give a meagre sketch
in reply, for want of room.
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