The decision once made, it was Uncle Snow’s wish that I should enter his counting-house immediately.  The cause of my good uncle’s haste was this—­he was afraid that I would turn out to be a poet before he could make a merchant of me.  His fears were based upon the fact that I had published in the Rivermouth Barnacle some verses addressed in a familiar manner “To the Moon.”  Now, the idea of a boy, with his living to get, placing himself in communication with the Moon, struck the mercantile mind as monstrous.  It was not only a bad investment, it was lunacy.

’We adopted Uncle Snow’s views so far as to accede to his proposition forthwith.  My mother, I neglected to say, was also to reside in New York.

I shall not draw a picture of Pepper Whitcomb’s disgust when the news was imparted to him, nor attempt to paint Sailor Ben’s distress at the prospect of losing his little messmate.

In the excitement of preparing for the journey I didn’t feel any very deep regret myself.  But when the moment came for leaving, and I saw my small trunk lashed up behind the carriage, then the pleasantness of the old life and a vague dread of the new came over me, and a mist filled my eyes, shutting out the group of schoolfellows, including all the members of the Centipede Club, who had come down to the house to see me off.

As the carriage swept round the corner, I leaned out of the window to take a last look at Sailor Ben’s cottage, and there was the Admiral’s flag flying at half-mast.

So I left Rivermouth, little dreaming that I was not to see the old place again for many and many a year.

Chapter Twenty-Two—­Exeunt Omnes

With the close of my school-days at Rivermouth this modest chronicle ends.

The new life upon which I entered, the new friends and foes I encountered on the road, and what I did and what I did not, are matters that do not come within the scope of these pages.  But before I write Finis to the record as it stands, before I leave it—­feeling as if I were once more going away from my boyhood—­I have a word or two to say concerning a few of the personages who have figured in the story, if you will allow me to call Gypsy a personage.

I am sure that the reader who has followed me thus far will be willing to hear what became of her, and Sailor Ben and Miss Abigail and the Captain.

First about Gypsy.  A month after my departure from Rivermouth the Captain informed me by letter that he had parted with the little mare, according to agreement.  She had been sold to the ring-master of a travelling circus (I had stipulated on this disposal of her), and was about to set out on her travels.  She did not disappoint my glowing anticipations, but became quite a celebrity in her way—­by dancing the polka to slow music on a pine-board ball-room constructed for the purpose.