The Battle of Life by Charlotte Maria Tucker

JOHN CAREY had enjoyed his walk to London, and had never so much as thought if he were tired or not; but whether from the noise and excitement to which he had been unaccustomed, or whether from the damp on his spirits telling on his bodily frame, the road which he retraced on his return seemed to him a weary long one. The sun set in a bank of clouds, a heavy mist filled the air; it appeared to John as if he should never get beyond the line of streets and villas which stretch, mile after mile, along the suburbs of London. The country was reached at last, but the evening mist lay so heavy upon it, that John could see nothing of the fields, and the hedges and trees which bordered the road loomed dim and indistinct through the increasing darkness. John had no inclination to whistle.

"Somehow, everything looks dull to me this evening, and I feel a bit down-hearted," muttered John, as he dragged his weary limbs along. "Mother says as how there's nothing ever comes to us by chance, that there's never a brier thrown across a pilgrim's way but he may pluck a blessing from it. I don't see how that can be, but mayhap that's because I ain't a pilgrim, and don't ask or look for the blessing. I can see nothing in this here matter about the cheque but the stupid blunder of a lazy old glutton, and all I get from it is a waste of shoe-leather, and a loss of time and temper. I suppose that I shall have another trudge up to London to-morrow; no, that there Justice should pay for the coach, if there's anything of justice in him but the name."