'
"The next day he was gone, and many a night as I sat over my study-fire
reading or trying to work up my sermon for Sunday, my thoughts would
stray from the subject in hand and wander out into the world in search
of my friend the tramp. I would listen to the wintry blasts whistling
down my chimney and wonder where Jim was, and wonder still more at his
complete silence. Surely he might let me know if all were well with him.
Had he persevered? Or had he, perhaps, lapsed into his former ways, and
was he, even now, tramping the highways and byways?
"Winter passed and spring came; still no news of Jim. Another summer,
another fall, another winter. Silence, absolute silence on the part of
my tramp. Then, one evening in May, exactly two years from the day when
I first met him, Jim stood before me once again. I recognized him by the
missing right hand and the scar on the temple. Aside from those two
points and the old merry twinkle in his eye he bore absolutely no
resemblance to my tramp of two years ago. The face was smooth shaven,
the bloat, caused by years of drinking, had all disappeared, and he
looked at least ten years younger than my former friend. His ragged
tramp's garb had been replaced by neat garments such as a fairly
prosperous business man might wear. His whole appearance seemed to
indicate that Jim had done well in the world to which he had returned.
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