“That will be as well, I suppose,” the mother replied.  Then, after a pause, she said—­

“How long will it be, Mr. Sharp, before I can see Henry?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.  How long before you think you can come out to Lexington?”

“Indeed, sir, I don’t know that I shall be able to get out there this winter.  Couldn’t you send him in sometimes?”

“Perhaps I will, about New Year’s, and let him spend a few days with you.”

“It is a good while to New Year’s day, sir.  He has never been from home in his life.”

“Oh no, ma’am.  It’s only a few weeks off.  And I don’t believe he’ll be homesick for a day.”

“But I shall, Mr. Sharp.”

“You?”

“Yes, sir.  It is hard to let my child go, and not see him again before New Year’s day.”

“But you must act the woman’s part, Mrs. Gaston.  We cannot get through life without some sacrifice of feeling.  My mother had to let me go before I was even as old as your boy.”

As Mr. Sharp said this, he arose, adding as he did so—­

“Come, my little man.  I see you are all ready.”

Holding back her feelings with a strong effort, Mrs. Gaston took hold of Henry’s small, thin hand, bent over him, and kissed his fair young cheek, murmuring in an under tone—­

“God be with you, and keep you, my boy!”

Then, speaking aloud, she said—­

“Be a good and obedient child, and Mr. Sharp will be kind to you, and let you come home to see me at New Year’s.”

“Oh, yes.  He shall come home then,” said the man half indifferently, as he moved toward the door.

Henry paused only to kiss his sister, and then followed after, with his little bundle in his hand.  As he was about descending the steps, he turned a last look upon his mother.  She saw that his eyes were filled with tears.  A moment more, and he was gone.

Little Emma had stood looking wonderingly on while this scene was passing.  Turning to her mother with a serious face, as the door closed upon Henry, she said—­

“Brother gone, mamma?

“Yes, dear!  Brother is gone,” sobbed the mother, taking the last child that remained to her, and hugging it passionately to her bosom.  It was a long time before she could resume her work, and then so deep was her feeling of desolation, that she could not keep back from her eyelids the blinding tear-drops.

CHAPTER V.

Perkins’ narrative.

The efforts made by Perkins to find the residence of the stranger proved unavailing.  Half suspecting that Michael had deceived him, he returned to the shop of Mr. Berlaps, and asked the direction anew.  It was repeated precisely as at first given.

“But I have been there.”

“Well, wasn’t she at that number?”

“No.”

“I don’t know any thing about her, then.  It often happens that these sewing girls deceive us as to their whereabouts?”