"When I leave this frail existence, When I lay this mortal by, Father, mother, may I meet you In your royal courts on high? Then, at length, when I've completed All you sent me forth to do, With your mutual approbation Let me come and dwell with you." The door opened, and a young woman came out with a small tin pail in her hand. At sight of Rupert she gave a startled cry and backed to the door. Just then the young farmer passed through the shanty and explained that it was only a "traveler" warming himself. The young woman looked steadily at Rupert. The fire shone out from the open door of the stove, and the light danced on the rough board walls, throwing a halo of red around the girl. "What a sweet picture," instantly thought Rupert. Then she slowly advanced again, and, instead of pouring the contents of the pail into a larger dish as was her errand, she placed it on the table by Rupert, and said, smilingly: "Vil you have a drink of varm milk?" "Thank you, thank you." Then she went back. Warm milk! What could be more delicious? Rupert sipped the sweet fluid. How it invigorated him and surcharged him with new life. And given by such hands, with such a smile! It was a glimpse of past glories. In the morning Rupert was asked if he wanted a job. "Yes," was the answer. "Can you work on a farm?" "I've been a farmer all my life," was the reply. "I'm not a tramp, as you understand that term." "Well, stay around today and I'll see what I can do. I want some help, but I cannot pay high wages." "Never mind the wages," said Rupert, "we'll agree on that after a while." The young farmer saw that he had no common tramp to deal with, although he looked rough and travel-stained.