eful courtesies of
farewell" to the hills it was leaving; and kissed the velvet meadows
that stooped to drink from its brimming cup; and lapped the trees
gently, as they hung over its crystal mirrors the better to see their
own fresh beauty. And here it wound "about and in and out," laughing in
the morning sunlight, to think of the tiny streamlet out of which it
grew; paling and shimmering at evening when it held the stars and
moonbeams in its bosom; and trembling in the night wind to think of the
great unknown sea into whose arms it was hurrying.

Here was a quiet pool where the rushes bent to the breeze and the quail
dipped her wing; and there a winding path where the cattle came down to
the edge, and having looked upon the scene and found it all very good,
dipped their sleek heads to drink and drink and drink of the river's
nectar. Here the first pink mayflowers pushed their sweet heads through
the reluctant earth, and waxen Indian pipes grew in the moist places,
and yellow violets hid themselves beneath their modest leaves.

And here sat Timothy, with all his heart in his eyes, bidding good-by to
all this soft and tender loveliness. And there, by his side, faithful
unto death (but very much in hopes of something better), sat Rags, and
thought it a fine enough prospect, but one that could be beaten at all
points by a bit of shed-view he knew of,--a superincumbent hash-pan, an
empty milk-dish, and an emaciated white cat flying round a corner! The
remembrance of these past joys brought the tears to his eyes, but he
forbore to let them flow lest he should add to the griefs of his little
master, which, for aught he knew, might be as heavy as his own.

Timothy was comporting himself, at this trying crisis, neither as a hero
nor as a martyr. There is no need of exaggerating his virtues. Enough to
say, not that he was a hero, but that he had in him the stuff out of
which heroes are made. Win his heart and fire his imagination, and there
is no splendid deed of which the little hero would not have been
capable. But that he knew precisely what he was leaving behind, or what
he was going forth to meet, would be saying too much. One thing he did
know: that Miss Vilda had said distinctly that two was one too many, and
that he was the objectionable unit referred to. And in addition to this
he had more than once heard that very day that nobody in Pleasant River
wanted him, but that there would be plenty of homes open to Gay if he