otherwise, and I had never disobeyed her, but it would have been hard, very hard for me to obey had she wished me to return to my employer. Little Flora was, if possible, more pleased than myself at the decision; with a low cry of joy, she threw her arms around my neck, saying "Oh! Walter, I am so glad that Mamma will not send you back to that old man." Poor child, she had never before been separated from her brother, and she had sadly missed her playmate during the past year. "Although," continued my mother "you may not have been free from blame, I think Mr. Judson acted very wrong. If, as I trust, is the case, you have told me the truth, I consider you blameable in two points only, first, in neglecting your work in the absence of your employer, and, secondly, in allowing yourself to use disrespectful language to him." While my mother was yet speaking, the door opened and Farmer Judson entered the room, without the ceremony of knocking, and began talking (as was his custom when angry) in a very loud and stormy voice, "Pray be seated, Mr. Judson," said my mother, "and when you become a little more composed I shall be pleased to listen to anything you may wish to say." He did not take the proffered seat, but muttered something about "people putting on airs," and turning sharply upon me, he said, "I hain't got no more time to waste talkin, so get your hat and come back to your work and no more about it." I did not move, but waited for my mother to speak,—with a voice of much composure, she replied to him, saying: "I have decided, Mr. Judson, that Walter had best not return to you. Till last evening I have never from him heard the first word of complaint;" in a straight forward manner she then repeated what I had said upon my return home. "My son informs me," added my mother, "that in more than one instance he has endured blows from you, and for very little cause; had I before been aware of this he should have left you at once; for my boy is not a slave to be driven with the lash. I have no doubt that his conduct may in many instances have been blameable. I am sorry that he allowed himself at the last to speak disrespectfully to you, but you must be aware that his provocation was great, and we must not look for perfection in a boy of thirteen. Considering all things, I think he had best remain no longer in your employ; for to subject him longer to a temper so capricious as yours, would be, I fear, to injure his disposition."

Mr. Judson was unable to gainsay one word my mother had said, and to conceal his mortification got into a towering passion, and used some very severe language which deeply wounded my mother's feelings. As he strode angrily from the room he said, "You need not expect anything else but to come to beggary if you keep a great fellow like that lazin' round in idleness, and I, for one, shall not pity you, depend on't." With these words he left the house, closing the door after him with a loud bang. It was indeed a welcome relief when he left us alone. My little sister had crept close to me the moment the angry Farmer entered the room, where she remained: trembling with fear till he was fairly out of hearing, when she exclaimed, "I hope that ugly old man will never come here again. Wasn't you afraid, Mamma?"

"No, dear," replied my mother, with a smile; "and let us hope if ever he does visit us again he will be in a better temper."

I wished at once to set about looking for another situation; but my mother advised me to remain at home and rest for a time. Little Flora was delighted when she found that I was to remain at home, for a time at least.

CHAPTER VI.

Not far from our humble dwelling stood the residence of Dr. Gray, the village physician. His only child was a son of nearly the same age as myself, and we had been firm friends from the days of early childhood. When of sufficient age we were sent to the same school, where we occupied the same desk, and often conned our daily lessons from the same book. The uncommon friendship existing between us had often been remarked by the villagers. This intimacy was somewhat singular, as our natures were very dissimilar, it may be this very dissimilarity attracted us the more strongly to each other. From infancy the disposition of Charley Gray was marked by peculiarities which will appear in the course of my story. When at school he made but few friends among his companions; and the few friendships he did form were marred by his exclusive and jealous nature. He possessed very strong feelings, and for a chosen friend his affection was deep and abiding. My own nature was exactly the opposite. I was frank and joyous, and inclined to make friends with all. For all that Charley and I were so intimate, even as boys, his peculiar temperament was often a source of unhappiness to both. Charley was the child of wealthy parents, while I, being poor, was often obliged to attend school dressed in clothing which looked almost shabby beside my well-dressed companions, but with all this I was ever Charley Gray's chosen companion, in fact he seemed to care little for any other companionship, and his parents, who had known both my father and mother long and intimately, were much pleased with his preference for my society, and took much pains to encourage the friendship existing between us. Charley was as much delighted as my sister when I returned home; he had two or three times ventured to visit me at Mr. Judson's, but his visits always made the Farmer angry, and he chanced one day to come into the field when we were unusually busy, and, as a matter of course the Farmer was cross in proportion, and he finally ordered Charley to "clear out," "its bad enough," said he "to get along with one boy, but two is out of the question, and the sooner you make tracks for home the better." Charley was thoroughly frightened, and he followed the Farmer's advice at once by "making tracks" out of the field, and he never attempted to repeat his visit. I returned home in the month of June. Dr. Gray intended sending Charley to a distant school, the coming autumn; and we both keenly felt the coming separation. He was to be absent a year before visiting his home, and that time seemed an age to our boyish minds. The long midsummer vacation soon arrived, and now, memory often turns fondly to that happy period. My companion and I certainly made the most of the time allowed before the coming separation.

Together we visited all our favorite haunts, we angled for fish, we roamed over the fields and through the woods in the vicinity of Elmwood, and no day seemed long enough for our varied amusements. I often wished to invite other of our companions to join our sports, but somehow or other, if this was the case, Charley's enjoyment at once fled. When (as was often the case) I would mention some of our schoolmates, with a view to inviting them to accompany us on some excursion of pleasure, a cloud would instantly come over Charley's countenance, and he would say in a petulant tone: "What do you want with them, we can surely enjoy ourselves without their company," and this reply would at once remind me of his exclusive and peculiar temperament, (which for the moment I had forgotten) and to please him I would say no more about it. But for this one fault of my companion's, and a fault it certainly was, I believe had I had a brother, I could have loved him no better than I loved Charley Gray. Previous to my mother's marriage her home had been in Western Canada; her father died while she was quite a young girl, but her mother, now far advanced in years, still lived in the old home, some fifty miles from the city of Hamilton. The affairs of the farm and household were managed by a son and daughter who had never married, and still resided in their paternal home. My mother was the youngest in the family, and had been the pet of the household during her childhood and early youth; she was many years younger than either her brother or sister, and they had exercised a watchful and loving care over their pet sister till the period