the future. Then he remembered that he might seek comfort
from a better Friend still; and that He who had sent him his trial could
and would help him to bear it, with honour as well as with patience. As
he thought of this, he saw that the boys were trooping home, along the
road, and he slipped out, and into the orchard, where he knew he might
be alone with his Best Friend. He stayed there till the supper-bell
rang; and when he came in, it was with a cheerful face. He was as merry
as anybody at supper: and afterwards he found his lessons more easy to
him than usual. The truth was that his mind was roused by the conflicts
of the day. He said his lessons to Phil (who found time to-night to hear
him), without missing a word. When he went to bed, he had several
pleasant thoughts. His secret was still his own (though by no merit of
his); to-morrow was Sunday,--likely to be a bright, sweet May
Sunday,--his lessons were quite ready for Monday; and possibly there
might be a letter from his mother in the course of the week.

Mrs. Proctor was in the midst of her Monday morning's business (and
Monday morning was the busiest of the week), when she received Hugh's
letter. Yet she found time to answer it by the very next post. When her
letter was handed to Hugh, with the seal unbroken, because 'private' was
written large on the outside, he thought she was the kindest mother that
ever was, to have written so soon, and to have minded all his wishes.
Her letter was,--

"Dear Hugh,

"There was nothing in your letter to surprise me at all; for I
believe, if all our hearts were known, it would be found that we
have every one been saved from doing wrong by what we call
accident. The very best people say this of themselves, in their
thanksgivings to God, and their confessions to one another. Though
you were very unhappy on Saturday, I am not sorry that these things
have happened, as I think you will be the safer and the wiser for
them. You say you never till then felt the least afraid of telling.
Now you know the danger; and that is a good thing. I think you will
never again see that boy (whoever he may be), without being put
upon your guard. Still, we are all sadly forgetful about our duty;
and, if I were you, I would use every precaution against such a
danger as you have escaped,--it makes me tremble to think how
narrowly. If I were you, I would engage any friend