ey involved self-sacrifice, made me all
the happier, so true it is that "it is more blessed to give than to
receive."

And in time I learned to love my home at the old farm house, with an
affection so deep that the thought of leaving it was very unpleasant to
me. I had also become much attached to my kind teacher and his family,
and thought with pain of a separation from them. But the time was now
drawing nigh when, like every youth who must depend upon his own
exertions for success, I must go forth to make my own way in the world.
By diligent study I had acquired an education which would enable me to
fill a position of trust and responsibility, when I should have gained
a practical knowledge of business. My mind turned toward mercantile
pursuits, and it was my intention (after leaving school) to seek a
situation where I could obtain experience in business.

CHAPTER XXI.

Winter had gradually melted away before the genial sun and warm rains of
spring, till the snow had entirely disappeared, and the fields began to
wear a tinge of green, with many other indications that summer was about
to revisit the earth. There is something very cheering in the return of
spring after enduring for a lengthened period the rigors of winter. The
waters are loosed from their icy fetters, and sparkle with seemingly
renewed brightness in the glad beams of the sun, and all nature seems
to partake of the buoyant spirit called forth by this happy season. The
song of birds fill the air, and they seem in their own way to offer
their tributes of praise to the kind and benevolent Father, by whose
direction the seasons succeed each other in their appointed order. All
were busy at the farm. Uncle Nathan was beginning to look up his "help"
for the labors of the summer, and my aunt was equally busy within doors.
Grandma is still there, always contented and always happy, for the
old-fashioned leather-covered Bible, which lies in its accustomed place
by her side, has been her guide through the period of youth and
middle-age, and now, in extreme old age, its promises prove, "as an
anchor to her soul, both sure and steadfast." The Widow Green is at
present an inmate of the dwelling, as she often is in busy seasons. A
letter has lately been received from Cousin Silas, saying he hoped it
would afford them no serious disappointment if he postponed the
proposed journey to Canada for a time, and added, by way of explanation,
that his wife was anxious