On the day after Dr. R—­had promised to go to Lexington to look after Mrs. Gaston’s little boy, the mother’s anxious desire to see her child, from whom she had heard not a word for nearly three months, became so strong that she could with difficulty compose herself so far as to continue her regular employments.  She counted the hours as they slowly wore away, thinking that the moment would never come when her eyes should rest upon her dear boy.  As the doctor had not said at what hour he would return from Lexington, there was no period in the day upon which she could fix her mind as that in which she might expect to see her child; but she assumed that it would not be until the after part of the day, and forward to that time she endeavored to carry her expectations.

When Doctor R—­parted with her, as has been seen, on the day previous, he was exquisitely pained under the conviction that the child he had met with in Lexington in so deplorable a condition was none other than the son of Mrs. Gaston, who had been put out to Mr. Sharp at his instance.  Hastily visiting a few patients that required immediate attention, he, very soon after parting with Mrs. Gaston, started in a sleigh for the town in which Henry had been apprenticed.  On his arrival there, and before he had proceeded far along the main street, he observed the child he had before met, toiling along under a heavy burden.  His clothes were soiled and ragged, and his hands and face dirty—­indeed, he presented an appearance little or nothing improved from what it was a short time before.  Driving close up to the side-walk upon which the boy was staggering along under his heavy load, he reined up his horses, and called out, as he did so—­

“Henry!”

The lad stopped instantly, and turned toward him, recognizing him as he did so.

“Don’t you want to see your mother, Henry?” asked the doctor.

The bundle under which he was toiling fell to the ground, and he stood in mute surprise for a moment or two.

“What is your name?” Doctor R—­asked.

“Henry Gaston,” replied the child.

“Then jump in here, Henry, and I will take you to see your mother.”

The boy took two or three quick steps toward the doctor, and then stopped suddenly and looked back at the load which had just fallen from his shoulders.

“Never mind that.  Let Mr. Sharp look after it,” said Doctor R—.

“But he will—­,” and Henry hesitated.

“Jump in, quick, my little fellow; and say good-bye in your heart to Mr. Sharp!  You shall never go back there again.”

The child sprang eagerly forward at this, and clambered into Doctor R—­’s sleigh.  A word to the horses, and away they were bounding toward Boston.  When Doctor R—­arrived there, his mind was made up, as it had been, indeed, before he started, not to take Henry home to his mother that day.  He saw that it would be too cruel to present the child to her in the condition he was; and, besides,