force at this moment, that he burst into a flood of tears,
exclaiming--

"Oh, don't leave me here, John! don't leave me, I cannot stay." Brushing
the tears from his own eyes, John drew the sobbing child out into the
yard, saying, as he put his arms affectionately about his neck,--

"But Arthur, what do you think mother would say to see you coming back
with me? How it would distress her! Indeed you _must_ stay, and try
to be contented. I think it looks like a pleasant place here. This is a
very pretty yard, and yonder is a large garden; I dare say Mr. Martin
will let you have a bed in it next spring."

"But it is living here all alone, which I dread," said Arthur.

"You know mother says we are never all alone," said John. "God will be
with you, and if you try to be a good contented boy, he will approve of
your conduct, and love you. Only six weeks too, remember, till you come
home. Just think how soon they will be gone!"

Rover had been gazing wistfully into Arthur's face, as if he wondered
what was going on that made them all so sober, and now he gently laid
his paw upon his hand. Arthur caressed him fondly, saying--

"Oh, Rover, dear good fellow, how I wish I could have you for company."

"I wish you could," said John, "but I don't think it would be right to
leave him, for Mr. Martin might not wish to have him."

John now untied his horse, saying,

"Try to be contented for mother's sake, dear Arthur."

Many years after, when John was a middle-aged man, he told me that
nothing in his whole life had made him feel worse than leaving little
Arthur behind him, that day. "I can see the poor little fellow now,"
said he, "just as he looked standing at the gate, weeping bitterly."

Rover refused at first to leave Arthur, but John lifted him into the
wagon, and drove off.

It was a lonely evening to Arthur. There was no frolic with Rover and
the children on the green; no kind mother's voice to call him in; no
affectionate good-night kiss for the little stranger. Mr. and Mrs.
Martin were very kind-hearted people, but they had little sympathy with
a child, and made no conversation with him. There was no hardship
imposed on Arthur; indeed they required less of him than he had been
accustomed to doing at home, and had he been a courageous, light-hearted
boy like his brother James, he would soon have been very happy in his
new home. But we have said he was shy and sensitive; like a delicate
plant he needed sunshine to de