as if I was behaving cruelly and ungratefully
in the extreme.

"But I'm not going to grieve about you, Nat, my boy," he said quite
cheerfully, "and here's your knife."

As he spoke he drew a splendid great jack-knife out of his pocket,
hauling out a quantity of white cord to which it was attached, and
proceeding to fasten it round my waist.

"There, Nat, my boy," he said, "it was the best I could get you; and the
man says it is a splendid bit of stuff. Do you like it, Nat--do you
like it?"

"Oh, uncle," I said, "it is too kind of you!"

"Not a bit, my boy, not a bit; and now make good use of it, and grow
strong and big, and come back as clever a man as your uncle, and I know
you will."

There is a bit of history to that knife, for it was only the day before
that he and I and Uncle Dick were together, and Uncle Joe wanted to make
me a present.

"There, Nat," said Uncle Joe, drawing his heavy gold watch out of the
fob by its watered-silk ribbon with the handsomely chased gold key and
large topaz seal at the end, "I shall give you that watch, my boy, for a
keepsake. Take it, Nat, and put it in your pocket; keep it out of
sight, my boy, till you have gone. I shall tell your aunt afterwards,
but she mightn't like it, you know, and it would be a little
unpleasant."

"But I don't like to take your watch, uncle," I said, glad as I should
have been to have it, for it seemed too bad to take it away.

"Quite right, Nat," said Uncle Dick; "don't take it."

"Not take it!" said Uncle Joe in a disappointed tone.

"No; he does not want a watch, Joe. Where he is going he must make the
sun his watch."

"Yes," said Uncle Joe quickly, "but how about the night?"

"Then he'll have to sleep and rest himself for the next day's work."

"And how about getting up in good time?"

"Daylight's the good time for getting up, Joe," said Uncle Dick; "and
the sun will tell him the time."

"Ah!" cried Uncle Joe triumphantly, "but the sun does not always shine."

"No, not here," replied Uncle Dick. "You have too much smoke and fog.
We are going where he shines almost too much. Here, put away your
watch, Joe. It is of no use to a boy who will be journeying through the
primeval forest, plunging through thorny undergrowth or bog, or fording
rivers and letting his clothes dry on him afterwards."

"But I should have liked him to have the watch," said Uncle Joe, rubbing
one side of his nose softly with the case.

"Leave it for hi