Berkshire, if Tom was
still at home, and in the mind to receive him.

Never was a letter more opportune. Here was the tried friend on
whom he could rely for help and advice and sympathy--who knew all
the facts too from beginning to end! His father and mother were
delighted to hear that they should now see the friend of whom he
had spoken so much. So he went up stairs and wrote an answer,
which set Hardy to work packing his portmanteau in the far west,
and brought him speedily to the side of his friend under the lee
of the Berkshire hills.

CHAPTER XXXV

SECOND YEAR

For some days after his return home--in fact, until his friend's
arrival, Tom was thoroughly beaten down and wretched,
notwithstanding his efforts to look hopefully forward, and keep
up his spirits. His usual occupations were utterly distasteful to
him; and, instead of occupying himself, he sat brooding over his
late misfortune, and hopelessly puzzling his head as to what he
could do to set matters right. The conviction in which he always
landed was that there was nothing to be done, and that he was a
desolate and blighted being, deserted of gods and men. Hardy's
presence and company soon shook him out of this maudlin nightmare
state, and he began to recover as soon as he had his old
sheet-anchor friend to hold on to and consult with. Their
consultations were held chiefly in the intervals of woodcraft, in
which they spent most of their hours between breakfast and
dinner. Hardy did not take out a certificate and wouldn't shoot
without one; so, as the best autumn exercise, they selected a
tough old pollard elm, infinitely ugly, with knotted and twisted
roots, curiously difficult to get at and cut through, which had
been long marked as a blot by Mr. Brown, and condemned to be
felled as soon as there was nothing more pressing for his men to
do. But there was always something of more importance; so that
the cross-grained old tree might have remained until this day,
had not Hardy and Tom pitched on him as a foeman worthy of their
axes. They shoveled, and picked, and hewed away with great
energy. The woodman who visited them occasionally, and who, on
examining their first efforts, had remarked that the severed
roots looked a little "as tho' the dogs had been a gnawin' at
'em," began to hold them in respect, and to tender his advice
with some deference. By the time the tree was felled and
shrouded, Tom was in a convalescent state.

Their occupation ha