“Dear Aunt Lucy,” said Paul, kissing her, “you are my only friend on earth.  You have been very kind to me, and I never will forget you, never!  By-and-by, when I am rich, I will build a fine house, and you will come and live with me, won’t you?”

Paul’s bright anticipations, improbable as they were, had the effect of turning his companion’s thoughts into a more cheerful channel.

She bent down and kissed him, whispering softly, “Yes, I will, Paul.”

“Then it’s a bargain,” said he, joyously, “Mind you don’t forget it.  I shall come for you one of these days when you least expect it.”

“Have you any money?” inquired Aunt Lucy.

Paul shook his head.

“Then,” said she, drawing from her finger a gold ring which had held its place for many long years, “here is something which will bring you a little money if you are ever in distress.”

Paul hung back.

“I would rather not take it, indeed I would,” he said, earnestly, “I would rather go hungry for two or three days than sell your ring.  Besides, I shall not need it; God will provide for me.”

“But you need not sell it,” urged Aunt Lucy, “unless it is absolutely necessary.  You can take it and keep it in remembrance of me.  Keep it till you see me again, Paul.  It will be a pledge to me that you will come back again some day.”

“On that condition I will take it,” said Paul, “and some day I will bring it back.”

A slight noise above, as of some one stirring in sleep, excited the apprehensions of the two, and warned them that it was imprudent for them to remain longer in conversation.

After a hurried good-by, Aunt Lucy quietly went upstairs again, and Paul, shouldering his bundle, walked rapidly away.

The birds, awakening from their night’s repose, were beginning to carol forth their rich songs of thanksgiving for the blessing of a new day.  From the flowers beneath his feet and the blossom-laden branches above his head, a delicious perfume floated out upon the morning air, and filled the heart of the young wanderer with a sense of the joyousness of existence, and inspired him with a hopeful confidence in the future.

For the first time he felt that he belonged to himself.  At the age of thirteen he had taken his fortune in his own hand, and was about to mold it as best he might.

There were care, and toil, and privations before him, no doubt, but in that bright morning hour he could harbor only cheerful and trusting thoughts.  Hopefully he looked forward to the time when he could fulfil his father’s dying injunction, and lift from his name the burden of a debt unpaid.  Then his mind reverting to another thought, he could not help smiling at the surprise and anger of Mr. Mudge, when he should find that his assistant had taken French leave.  He thought he should like to be concealed somewhere where he could witness the commotion excited by his own departure.  But as he could not be in two places at the same time, he must lose that satisfaction.  He had cut loose from the Mudge household, as he trusted, forever.  He felt that a new and brighter life was opening before him.