The morn-ing a-rose bright and cheer-ful.  The old lock-er was o-pen-ed, and his on-ly shoes, trea-sur-ed for high-days and ho-li-days, were ta-ken out and brush-ed up, as was al-so his best suit, which was in-deed ve-ry lit-tle bet-ter than the care-ful-ly mend-ed suit of his e-ve-ry-day wear.  He, how-e-ver, thought him-self ve-ry fine, and felt that his ap-pear-ance would act as a re-com-men-da-tion in his fa-vour.

They sat down to break-fast:  it was a ve-ry tear-ful one, and, with a strange feel-ing, they a-void-ed each o-ther’s looks, hop-ing to hide their tears one from the o-ther.

Oh! it want-ed a great re-so-lu-tion for poor Wil-lie to say, “Well! dear mo-ther, I must be start-ing;” but he did do it at last, al-though it was af-ter ma-ny strug-gles to keep down the beat-ings of his heart.

[Illustration:  The first assistance.]

His mo-ther heard him with a be-wil-der-ed look, as if she heard the pro-po-sal for the first time; and her grief burst forth with un-con-trol-la-ble vi-o-lence as she threw her arms round his neck with an a-go-ny on-ly known to a fond mo-ther.

He tried to com-fort her, and to smile through his tears, as he put on his hat with a re-so-lute thump, seiz-ed up-on his stick and wal-let, and lift-ed the latch of the door that was to o-pen for his bold en-trance in-to the world, so full of pro-mise to him.

Again they lin-ger-ed in their lit-tle gar-den, where e-ve-ry flow-er seem-ed an old friend to be part-ed with:  a-gain the tears and the em-bra-ces.  At last the lit-tle gate was swung wide o-pen, and Wil-lie step-ped bold-ly forth.  His mo-ther co-ver-ed her face and wept.  He turn-ed to-wards her with ir-re-so-lu-tion:  he felt how dif-fi-cult it was to leave one so dear and af-fec-tion-ate; but his du-ty was sim-ple, and he would do it:  with one more “good bye,” he was gone on his way weep-ing.

The lark rose in the morn-ing sky, and sang her joy-ous song.  The sweet, bal-my air of ear-ly day cool-ed his throb-bing brow, and his tears gra-du-al-ly ceas-ed to flow; but his lit-tle breast heav-ed now and then with sobs as the storm of grief sub-si-ded.  His foot-steps grew quick-er the far-ther he left his home be-hind; for be-fore him lay the land of pro-mise, and his lit-tle brain was full of dreams of suc-cess, and the con-se-quent joy that would be at his heart when he re-trod those ve-ry fields on his re-turn, la-den with rich-es to throw in-to his mo-ther’s lap.

[Illustration:  The Little tent.]

As these thoughts rush-ed through his mind, they gave him much com-fort; and he even hummed an air as he trot-ted on, to show his man-li-ness and cou-rage.

Pre-sen-tly, as he pass-ed through a val-ley which was la-den with the sweets of wild flow-ers that bloom-ed on ei-ther side, a cu-ri-ous and al-most trans-pa-rent flee-cy cloud ap-pear-ed a-cross his path, from which a-rose two e-nor-mous hands.  He start-ed, and well he might, for he saw no-bo-dy be-long-ing to them:  no, there they were, on-ly hands.  There was no fear of them, for they were spread o-pen up-on the grass be-fore him with-out the slight-est ex-pres-sion of threat-en-ing in them.