“I guess not,” said John, “for he took no notice of Rover, and every body who likes dogs speaks to Rover, because he is so large and handsome.  I am afraid you will be homesick at first over there, but we must do the best we can, for these are hard times.  I don’t see how we can do any thing more than pay the rent this year, after all my summer’s work; for the dry weather ruined the potatoes, and corn won’t bring more than fifty cents a bushel; and how we are to live, I don’t see.  I am not afraid for myself, but it is too bad for mother, and the little ones; so, if you are homesick, you must try to get over it again, and not come back, or let mother know it, for she has just as much trouble as she can bear already.”

“Oh, no,” said Arthur, “I won’t be homesick, I will be a brave boy, as mother calls it, and never complain, let what will come; but I do wish we were not so poor.”

“I don’t know,” said John, “I think poor folks that work hard, enjoy about as much as anybody, after all.  It isn’t a disgrace to be poor, if we are only honest, and do what is right; and you know the minister said last Sabbath, that Jesus Christ when he lived on the earth was a poor man, and worked with his hands for a living.  He won’t despise the poor now he has gone into heaven again; for he will remember how he was poor once.  Mother says, nothing will break her heart but living to see us do some wicked deed, and that she could not survive that.  We must be careful not to break her heart, musn’t we, Arthur?”

So the lads rode on till noon; and when the sun shone out warmly, the forest-trees looked more magnificent in its golden light, than King Solomon in all his glory.  There was the crimson-leaved maple, and the yellow beach, and the variegated oak, mingled with the fresh green hemlocks and pines.  There was something in the quiet, and deep stillness of the woods, which made the boys silent, as they rode through; they felt the influence of its exceeding beauty, though they could not have expressed it in words; for God always speaks to us through his works, and if we will listen to the voice, our hearts will be softened, and pleasant and profitable thoughts will arise.

It was two in the afternoon, when John and Arthur reached Mr. Martin’s.  He was not at home, but Mrs. Martin received them kindly, saying, “she expected they would come that day.”  She was a grave-looking old lady, who wore spectacles, and the inquisitive manner in which she looked over the top of them into Arthur’s face, quite frightened the little fellow, and he could only reply in very low monosyllables to the questions she asked him; so John gave her such information as she desired.  Mrs. Martin showed them the small chamber in which Arthur was to sleep, and John carried up the wooden box, and put it down in one corner.  After staying half an hour, John thought he must go.  A sense of the loneliness of his situation among strangers, where no one familiar voice would be heard, and not one familiar object seen, came over the heart of poor Arthur with such force at this moment, that he burst into a flood of tears, exclaiming—­