little fellow! try to
bear it a little longer; the storm is almost over."

Hark! what was that they heard? A far-off, distant shout. They listened
with painful intentness. It came faintly again: "Hol-lo!" It must be--it
was--yes--somebody was calling them; and, altogether, they gave a shrill
cry of joy! Their hearts beat wildly. The shouts sounded louder. They
hear their names called: Char-ley--Har-ry! They answer again,
trembling--their whole frames thrilling. Lights come dancing through the
trees at a distance. They are coming nearer; and the boys, taking George
in their arms, struggle through the wet branches with which the wind
has covered the ground. In another moment they can dimly discern two men
carrying lanterns, and Charley recognizes his father's voice.

"Here they are! they are found! they are safe!" and Charley, gasping for
breath, leaps into his father's arms. He feels the hot tears on his
cheek, and hears the broken voice say, "Oh, my son--my son! Thank God, I
have found you at last." Not one word of reproach; but those dreadful
tears--his father crying, and for him. He felt to his very heart's core
what a wicked, ungrateful boy he had been.

With many sobs and broken words, he implored forgiveness. If his dear
father would only love him as he did before, he would never--never
grieve him again.

Harry's father embraced his lost boys with thankful joy; and both
parents shook hands, and spoke kindly to Arthur and Richard. No word of
reproach was uttered; and George, excited by his beloved father's voice,
rallied, and seemed for the time almost well again.

The forest was very extensive, and the woods presented so little variety
that you might go round and round in a circuit for days, thinking you
were taking the most direct path out. If the little gipsies had not been
thus found, through the guidance of a divine Providence, they might, and
very probably would, have starved to death before assistance came to
them.

And now the day begins to dawn. Rosy streaks shoot up into the zenith;
and the birds sing with a rollicking gladness, as if they rejoiced over
the rescue of the weary little band of gipsies--soon to be gipsies no
longer. And, truly, they presented a most dismal and bedraggled
appearance, with their hair full of broken bits of dried leaves, their
faces streaked and disfigured with traces of tears, and their clothes
soiled and wet. Wearily they toiled through the broken and tangled
branches