The next morning the family arose at an earlier hour than usual, as Oscar had got to be on his way soon after sunrise.  It was decided that Jerry should drive him over to the Cross-Roads.  Accordingly, after a hasty breakfast, he bade them all good-bye, one by one, and taking a seat in the wagon with Jerry, started for home.  It was delightful, riding while the birds were yet singing their morning songs, and the grass was spangled with dew, and the cool air had not felt the hot breath of the sun; but the separation that was about to take place, and the unpleasant recollection of their recent quarrel, lessened their enjoyment of the ride very much.  They reached the Cross-Roads nearly half an hour before the stage-coach came along.  At length it drove up to the post-office, and Oscar, mounting to the top, took a seat behind the driver.  The mail-bag was handed to the driver, and the coach started again on its way, Oscar bowing his farewell to Jerry, as they drove off.

[Illustration:  The Stage Coach.]

Nothing of special interest occurred the forenoon’s ride.  The coach reached its destination about eleven o’clock and Oscar had barely time enough to brush the dust from his clothing, and to obtain a drink of cold water, when the signal was given for the cars to start, and he took his seat in the train.  His thoughtful aunt had placed a liberal supply of eatables in the top of his valise, and to that he now had recourse, for his long ride had given him a sharp appetite.  There were but few passengers in the train when it started, but at almost every station it received accessions.

On reaching Portland, Oscar found that he had nearly half an hour to spare, before taking the Boston train; for it was his intention to “go through” in one day, which his early start enabled him to do.  After treating himself to a few cakes, which he purchased at a refreshment stand in the depot, he walked about until it was time to take his seat in the cars.

The clock struck three, and the train started.  One hundred and eleven miles seemed to Oscar a long distance to travel, at one stretch, especially after riding all the forenoon; and, indeed, he did begin to feel quite tired, long before he reached the end of the journey.  To add to his uneasiness, a particle of cinder from the locomotive flew into his eye, and lodged there so firmly that all his efforts to remove it were in vain.  In a little while, the eye became quite painful, and he was obliged to keep it closed.  A kind-looking gentleman, who sat near him, noticed his trouble, and offered to assist him in removing the mote; but it was so small that he could not find it.  He advised Oscar not to rub the inflamed organ, and told him he thought the moisture of the eye would soon wash out the intruder, if left to itself.  Oscar tried to follow this advice, but the pain and irritation did not subside, and he closed his eyes, and resigned himself to darkness.