dy, and he had only to put on his coat and comforter. He
was in a kind of maze, as he felt the warm coat put on him, and as his
mother's white hands tied the scarf round his neck. Then her arms were
pressed very closely around him, and as he lay there like a helpless
little baby, he could just hear her whispered farewell, "Good-bye, my own
child; may God take care of you." Then Arthur felt that his father's hand
was holding his, and that he was leading him away. Suddenly he remembered
something that he had forgotten. "Oh, father!" he said, "please stop a
moment; I must do something I forgot." This was a tiny white paper parcel,
which he had been keeping for this last moment, in a hidden corner
upstairs. Arthur ran up to the place, and bringing it down he put it in
his mother's hands, and said, "That's what I made for you, mother."

She did not open it until he was gone; and perhaps it was well that Arthur
did not see the passion of tears that were shed over that little parcel.
It was only a piece of ivory carved in the shape of a horseshoe, or rather
there was an attempt at carving it in that shape; and on a slip of paper
was written, in Arthur's round hand, "For my own dear mother to wear while
I am away. This is to be made into a brooch."

CHAPTER VI.

MYRTLE HILL; OR, THE NEW HOME.

When Arthur Vivyan was looking forward, with such feelings of dread, he
did not know that his aunt was hardly less anxiously expecting his
arrival; and that, much as he feared what living with her would be, her
thoughts had been very troubled ones on the same subject. She had lived
alone for so many years now, and as she said, she was so little accustomed
to children, she was afraid that her young nephew would find her home
deary and sad; that she might not understand him herself, or that she
might be foolishly indulgent and blind to the faults, which might make him
grow useless and miserable. She had spent many anxious hours thinking of
all this, and laying plans about the care she would take of him, and all
the ways in which she would try to make him happy and contented.

Arthur and his father had left Ashton by an afternoon train, which did not
bring them into the town, near Mrs. Estcourt's house, until it was quite
dark. It was a very cheerless journey to Arthur. Generally he liked
travelling by the railway, and when he took his seat by his father's side,
his spirits rose very high as they passed quickly along, and the new