rength to all the brave people that ever lived, and comfort to
all sufferers. When the greatest of all sufferers wanted relief, what
did he do?"

"He went by himself, and prayed," said Agnes.

"Yes, that is the way," observed Hugh, as if he knew by experience.

Mr. Shaw presently came, to say that tea was ready.

"I am too big a baby to be carried now," cried Hugh, gaily. "Let me try
if I cannot go alone."

"Why,--there is the step at the parlour door," said Mr. Shaw,
doubtfully. "At any rate, stop till I bring a light."

But Hugh followed close upon his uncle's heels, and was over the step
before his aunt supposed he was half way across the hall. After tea, his
uncle and he were so full of play, that the ladies could hardly hear one
another speak till Hugh was gone to bed, too tired to laugh any more.

CHAPTER XI.

DOMESTIC MANNERS.

After Mr. Proctor had come and was gone, and Mrs. Proctor was gone with
him, Hugh began to wonder why Tooke had never paid the visit he had
promised. Several boys had called; some to thank Hugh for balls that he
had quilted; some to see how he got on; and some to bring him Crofton
news. Mr. Tooke had fastened his horse up at the door, in passing, and
stepped in for a few minutes, two or three times a week: but it was now
within six days of the holidays, and the one Hugh most wished to see had
not appeared. His uncle observed his wistful look when the door-bell
rang, and drew his conclusions. He said, on the Wednesday before the
breaking-up, that he was going to drive past the Crofton school; that it
was such a fine day that he thought Hugh might go with him, and perhaps
they might persuade some one to come home to dinner with them.

Hugh had never enjoyed the open air more than during this drive. He had
yet much to learn about the country, and it was all as beautiful as it
was new. His uncle pointed out to him the fieldfares wheeling in flocks
over the fallows; and the rabbits in the warren, scampering away with
their little white tails turned up; and the robin hopping in the frosty
pathway; and the wild-ducks splashing among the reeds in the marshes.
They saw the cottagers' children trying to collect snow enough from the
small remains of the drifts to make snow-balls, and obliged to throw
away the dirty snow that would melt, and would not bind. As they left
the road, and turned through a copse, because Mr. Shaw had business with
Mr. Sullivan's gamekeeper, a pheasant fle