“But think, doctor,” said Mrs. Gaston, in a trembling voice, “Henry is but ten.  To put a child out for eleven years is a long, long time.”

“I know it is, madam.  But he has to live the eleven years somewhere, and I am sure he will be as comfortable in this place as you can make him; and, indeed, even more so.”

“In some respects he may, no doubt.  But a child like him is never happy away from his mother.”

“But suppose it is out of his mother’s power to get him food and comfortable clothing?”

“True—­true, doctor.  It is a hard fate.  But I feel that I have only one way before me—­that of submission.”

And submit she did, though with a most painful struggle.  On the following day, the friend of the hatter called upon Mrs. Gaston, and it was settled between them that little Henry should be called for by the man who was to become his master on the morning of the next day but one.  The best that the mother could do for her son, about to leave his home and go out among strangers, was to get him a pair of shoes, upon which she paid forty cents, promising to settle the balance in a couple of weeks.  His thin, scanty clothes she mended and washed clean—­darned his old and much-worn stockings, and sewed on the torn front of his seal-skin cap.  With his little bundle of clothes tied up, Henry sat awaiting on the morning of the day appointed for the arrival of his master, his young heart sorrowful at the thought of leaving his mother and sister.  But he seemed to feel that he was the subject of a stern necessity, and therefore strove to act a manly part, and keep back the tears that were ready to flow forth.  Mrs. Gaston, after preparing her boy to pass from under her roof and enter alone upon life’s hard pilgrimage, sat down to her work with an overburdened heart.  At one moment she would repent of what she had done, and half resolve to say “No,” when the man came for her child.  But an unanswerable argument against this were the coarse shirts in her hands, for which she was to receive only seven cents a-piece!

At last a rough voice was heard below, and then a heavy foot upon the stairs, every tread of which seemed to the mother to be upon her heart.  Little Henry arose and looked frightened as a man entered, saying as he came in—­

“Ah, yes!  This is the place, I see.  Well, ma’am, is your little boy ready?”

“He is, sir,” replied Mrs. Gaston, almost inaudibly, rising and handing the stranger a chair.  “You see he is a very small boy, sir.”

“Yes, so I see.  But some small boys are worth a dozen large ones.  Come here, my little fellow!  What is your name?”

The child went up to the man, telling him his name as he did so.

“That’s a fine little fellow!  Well, Henry! do you think you and I can agree?  Oh, yes.  We’ll get along together very well, I have no doubt.  I suppose, ma’am,” he continued, addressing Mrs. Gaston, “that the better way will be for him to stay this winter on trial.  If we like each other, you can come out to Lexington in the spring and have him regularly bound.”