re going away, uncle."

"Well, Nat, you've known that for months," he said, with a smile.

"Yes, uncle; but don't go by yourself," I cried. "Take me with you; I
won't want much to eat--I won't give you any trouble; and I'll work so
very, very hard to help you always, and I could be useful to you.
Pray--pray, uncle, take me too."

He pushed his chair away from the table and sat gazing at me with a
frown upon his face, then he jumped up and began walking swiftly up and
down the room.

"I would hardly let you know that I was with you, uncle, and there
should be nothing you wanted that I would not do. Don't be angry with
me for asking to go, for I do want to go with you so very, very much."

"Angry, my boy! No, not angry," he cried; "but no, no; it is
impossible."

"Don't say that, uncle," I cried; "I would work so hard."

"Yes, yes, my boy, I know that; but it would not be just to you to drag
you away there to those wild lands to live like a savage half your
time."

"But I should like that, uncle," I cried excitedly.

"To expose you to risks of voyaging, from the savages, and from disease.
No, no, Nat, you must not ask me. It would not do."

"Oh, uncle!" I cried, with such a pitiful look of disappointment on my
face, that he stopped and laid his hand upon my shoulder.

"Why, Nat, my boy," he said in a soft, gentle way, very different to his
usual mode of speaking, "nothing would be more delightful to me than to
have you for my companion; not for my servant, to work so hard, but to
be my friend, helpmate, and counsellor in all my journeyings. Why, it
would be delightful to have you with me, boy, to enjoy with me the
discovery of some new specimen."

"Which we had hunted out in some wild jungle where man had never been
before, uncle!"

"Bird or butterfly, it would be all the same, Nat; we should prize it
and revel in our discovery."

"Yes, and I'd race you, uncle, and see which could find most new sorts."

"And of an evening we could sit in our tent or hut, and skin and
preserve, or pin out what we had found during the day, Nat, eh?"

"Oh, uncle, it would be glorious!" I cried excitedly. "And I say--
birds of paradise! We would make such a collection of all the loveliest
kinds."

"Then we should have to hunt and fish, Nat, for the pot, for there would
be no butchers' and fishmongers' shops, lad."

"Oh! it would be glorious, uncle!" I cried.

"Glorious, my boy!" he said as excitedly as I; "wh