The day wore away, and in the evening Frank presented himself at the hotel, and inquired for Mr. Morton. He was ushered upstairs, and told to knock at the door of a room in the second story.
His knock was answered by the young man in person, who shook his hand with a pleasant smile, and invited him in.
"I am glad to see you, Frank," he said, very cordially.
"And I am much obliged to you for inviting me, Mr. Morton."
They sat down together beside the table, and conversed on a variety of topics. Frank had numberless questions to ask about foreign scenes and countries, all of which were answered with the utmost readiness. Henry Morton brought out a large portfolio containing various pictures, some on note-paper, representing scenes in different parts of Europe.
The evening wore away only too rapidly for Frank. He had seldom passed two hours so pleasantly. At half-past nine, he rose, and said half-regretfully, "I wish you were going to live in the village this winter, Mr. Morton."
The young man smiled. "Such is my intention, Frank," he said quietly.
"Shall you stay?" said Frank joyfully. "I suppose you will board here?"
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