ene that Arthur knew so well;
but here a wide stretch of country lay beneath him, undulating here and
there, but spreading far on, covered with fields and trees, and dotted
with hamlets, until it faded away into grey distance. The sun had risen
not long before, and the rosy beams were falling on the country, lighting
with a ruddy radiance the windows of the cottages, and sparkling on the
little river that was winding peacefully through the pasture land. It was
a very sweet scene, and Arthur felt its beauty. He could not see the town,
where they arrived the night before; for a stretch of woodland near by
shut it out from his sight.

Having looked at the distant hills, he now turned his attention to the
objects nearer home. How very neatly the gravel walks were rolled. The
grass was smooth and evenly cut; not even the little daisies were allowed
to peep their modest heads from the lawn. "Well, I wonder aunt cuts off
all the heads of her namesakes," said Arthur to himself. His window was at
the side of the house, and he could see that the garden surrounded it on
all sides, and that the low trees that led down to the arbour gave their
name to Myrtle Hill. It was early spring-time yet, and not very many
flowers were blooming; only here and there bright-coloured tufts of
crocuses and primroses were shining on the brown earth, and the snowdrops
were shaking their bended heads, in the morning breeze. Arthur looked at
it all, and wondered whether he should ever be as familiar with this
place, as he was with the home far away. This thought led him into a
reverie, and he began to wonder what every one was doing at this time
there--who was feeding Hector; and would the gardener's boy remember to
water the seeds; though he remembered with a deep sigh that it did not
matter very much, as long before they would be in bloom, Ashton Grange
would be empty and deserted; and this thought was a very dreary one.
Arthur was beginning to feel very dismal again. The changing spring sky,
too, had become overclouded; the morning sun was hidden, and it seemed as
if a shower was going to fall. There was a prospect of a shower indoors,
too; for Arthur dashed the tear-drops from his eyes, and said, "I won't
cry; no, I won't; I'm always crying now. I wonder how mother can keep from
it so well. Well, perhaps when I am as old as she is I shall be able; or,
perhaps I shall be like papa, and not want to cry. I wonder if he does
ever; it would be queer to s