The next morning the great piles of corded boxes which crowded the passage were put on the coach, and the boys, gladly leaving the deserted building, drove in every sort of vehicle to the steamer.  What joyous triumphant mornings those were!  How the heart exulted and bounded with, the sense of life and pleasure, and how universal was the gladness and good humor of every one.  Never were voyages so merry as those of the steamer that day, and even the “good-byes” that had to be said at Southpool were lightly borne.  From thence the boys quickly scattered to the different railways, and the numbers of those who were travelling together got thinner and thinner as the distance increased.  Wright and one or two others went nearly all the way with Eric, and when he got down at the little roadside station, from whence started the branch rail to Ayrton, he bade them merry and affectionate farewell.  The branch train soon started, and in another hour he would be at Fairholm.

It was not till then that his home feelings woke in all their intensity.  He had not been there for a year.  At Roslyn the summer holidays were nine weeks, and the holidays at Christmas and Easter were short, so that it had not been worth while to travel so far as Fairholm, and Eric had spent his Christmas with friends in another part of the island.  But now he was once more to see dear Fairholm, and his aunt, his cousin Fanny, and above all, his little brother.  His heart was beating fast with joy, and his eyes sparkling with pleasure and excitement.  As he thrust his head out of the window, each well-remembered landmark gave him the delicious sensation of meeting again an old friend.  “Ah! there’s the white bridge, and there’s the canal, and the stile; and there runs the river, and there’s Velvet Lawn.  Hurrah! here we are.”  And springing out of the train before it had well stopped, he had shaken hands heartily with the old coachman, who was expecting him, and jumped up into the carriage in a moment.

Through the lanes he knew so well, by whose hedgerows he had so often plucked sorrel and wild roses; past the old church with its sleeping churchyard; through, the quiet village, where every ten yards he met old acquaintances who looked pleased to see him, and whom he greeted with glad smiles and nods of recognition; past the Latin school, from which came murmurs and voices as of yore (what a man he felt himself now by comparison!);—­by the old Roman camp, where he had imagined such heroic things when he was a child; through all the scenes so rich with the memories and associations of his happy childhood, they flew along; and now they had entered the avenue, and Eric was painfully on the look-out.

Yes! there they were all three—­Mrs. Trevor, and Fanny, and Vernon, on the mound at the end of the avenue; and the younger ones ran to meet him.  It was a joyous meeting; he gave Fanny a hearty kiss, and put his arm round Vernon’s neck, and then held him in front to have a look at him.