lds me
most delight.

"Ere long I hope to return to that home among the Cedars, and sit down to
quiet evenings by my dear uncle's side, with no sound in our ears save
the eternal roar of the mighty forest winds.

"Far from experiencing a jealous pang, I rejoice to learn you have found
an object of interest in the youth you have taken under your care. May he
prove a grateful companion to your solitude, is the sincere wish of,
Yours, most truly, EDGAR."

Such were the contents of the letter which the hermit perused several
times ere he folded it, and turned his attention to the boy, who was
still sitting by the small window, gazing forth into the windy night.

"William," said he--and the lad approached.

Something seemed trembling on the thin lips of the recluse which he
hesitated to reveal. At length, as if suddenly changing his purpose, he
said: "Do you think your mother is comfortable, to-night, my boy?"

"O, yes, sir!" answered Willie, "the large bundle of sticks you left at
her door yesterday evening will keep her warm for several days."

"I hope they may," returned the hermit; "'tis a sad thing to be poor,
Willie, but 'tis a sadder thing to be wicked."

"You do not think my mother is wicked, do you?" asked the boy, turning
his blue eyes quickly on the hermit's countenance.

"Why do you ask?" said he, returning Willie's startled glance with a
grave smile.

"Because I knew Mr. Pimble's folks said harsh things of her, and I
didn't know but you believed them, as you never chose to enter our
humble abode."

"My gloomy disposition is averse to intercourse with the generality of
my species," returned the hermit, in a solemn tone; "nor do I ever heed
or hear the tales and gossipings of idle lips. In the last ten years I
have held no converse with any human beings, save you and your ---- and
my nephew, Edgar Lindenwood."

Willie gazed on the strange man before him in silent awe. "Has your
mother ever expressed a wish to see me?" inquired the hermit, after a
pause.

"Often," said Willie.

"For what purpose?" demanded the recluse, in a quick, sudden tone,
looking eagerly on the boy's face.

"To thank you for all your kindness to her," replied the lad,
ingenuously.

"O, yes!" returned the solitary man, his features relapsing into their
usual placid serenity. "I wish not, nor deserve, her thanks for the
humble charities given. Let us seek our couch, my boy."

"Have you another name than William?" he asked,