sterious disappearance. He was her husband, and the father of her
children, and it was not strange that she wept, and even hoped that he
would come back. The neighbors comforted her, and put her in the way
of supporting herself and the children, so that she was very soon
reconciled to the event.

When West had been gone a month, his wife received a letter from him,
informing her that he had determined to stop drinking, and be a man
again. He could not keep sober in Redfield, among his old companions,
and he was at work in Providence till he could get money enough to
pay his expenses to Valparaiso, in South America, where a lucrative
place awaited him. He hoped his wife would manage to get along for a
few months, when he should be able to send her some money.

Mrs. West was easy again. Her husband was not dead, was not drowned in
the river, or lost in the woods; and her heart was cheered by the
prospects of future plenty, which the letter pointed out to her.

A year passed by, and nothing more was heard from Franklin West. The
poor, forsaken wife had a hard time to support her little family. The
most constant and severe toil enabled her to pinch her way along; but
it was a bitter trial. She had no relations to help her; and though
the neighbors were as kind as neighbors could be, life was a hard
struggle.

Then the baby sickened and died. This bereavement seemed to unnerve
and discourage her, and though there was one mouth less to feed, her
strength failed her, and she was unequal to the task. Care and sorrow
did their work upon her, and though people said she died of
consumption, Heaven knew she died of a broken heart and disappointed
hopes.

Harry was four years old when this sad event left him alone in the
world. There was none willing to assume the burden of bringing up the
lonely little pilgrim, and he was sent to the poorhouse. It was a hard
fate for the tender child to be removed from the endearments of a
mother's love, and placed in the cheerless asylum which public charity
provides for the poor and the friendless.

The child was only four years old; but he missed the fond kiss and the
loving caresses of his devoted mother. They were kind to him there,
but it was not home, and his heart could not but yearn for those
treasures of affection which glittered for him only in the heart of
his mother. There was an aching void, and though he could not
understand or appreciate his loss, it was none the less painful