e
opposite side of the room, stopping every now and then to listen, as if
expecting to hear some pleasant sound. Among them all, the mother moves
with a beaming face and quiet step, completing the arrangements of the
table, which is standing at the backside of the room, covered by a snowy
cloth, and decorated with the best plates, and china cups and saucers,
the relics of more prosperous days.

"Hurra, they've come! they've come!" said James, tossing down his
hammer, and bounding over the pan of nuts; "that's our wagon, I know."

All are at the door. 'Tis they! Yes, 'tis John and Arthur, our dear
little Arthur home again! How they all seize upon and kiss him! How the
mother holds him to her heart with tearful eyes! Ah, this is joy; such
joy as can be purchased only by separation and suffering. Who that
looked now on Arthur's beaming eye, and glowing cheek, could dream that
they had been clouded by sorrow, or dimmed by tears?

Of all the happy groups that were assembled in our old Commonwealth that
night, few we think were happier than this. Rover was by no means a
silent witness of the joy. He would not leave Arthur's side a moment,
and constantly sought to attract his notice. Arthur had been always very
fond of Rover, almost more so than the other children, though he was a
great favorite with all, and Rover had missed him since he went away
almost as much as Arthur had missed Rover; so it was a joyful re-union
on both sides. He was a large dog, of the Newfoundland breed, with
shaggy hair. He had beautiful white spots, and long, silky ears, and was
a very good-natured dog. He would let Charlie get on his back, and ride
him all about the yard; and the boys had made a little sled to which
they fastened Rover, and Emma, well wrapped up in her hood and cloak,
with her woolen mittens on, would have quite long rides after him;
sometimes in the yard, and sometimes in the street.

How much the children had to talk about that night; how many stories to
tell Arthur, and questions to ask him in return! Arthur had decided
beforehand not to make any complaint, or to say he was unhappy, or
homesick; and indeed in the pleasure of being at home again, he almost
forgot he had ever been unhappy. He was to stay till Monday morning, and
to him those four days seemed a long period of enjoyment, quite too long
to be saddened yet by the thoughts of separation. The night settled down
on the inmates of the cottage, and sweet sleep sealed up