that lay upon the ground, and little George very soon had to be
lifted tenderly into his father's arms. His face grew flushed and his
voice hoarse, as he murmured, "Oh, papa, my throat hurts me so!" and his
father saw with anguish that his little boy was very ill, and they were
yet, as well as he could judge, some miles from home.

But how can I depict the sufferings of the poor mothers, who were left
at home mourning, watching, and waiting, and becoming paler and more
hopeless as the night slowly and painfully wore on!

The gray light of morning broke through the crevices of the closed
shutters of those desolated homes, but it made them seem only the
darker, for "_they_" had not come. And it was nearly two hours after
sunrise before an unusual stir and bustle outside sent the blood in
quick tides through the frames of these poor mothers. Suddenly they hear
a joyful shout! they rush to the windows; they see their children
coming. And now--only _now_, does the day brighten for them.

I have no words to describe the meeting. I am sure the boys will never
forget the pale, tear-stained faces, which told of so much anguish
suffered for them, or the trembling kisses they received, while a prayer
of thankfulness ascended to heaven that the lost ones were found.
Still, not a word of reproach. With a mixture of remorse and happiness,
they hastened to remove all vestige of their gipsy life, and, with clean
faces and hands, and thankful hearts, sat down to a nicely served and
most welcome breakfast.

All but poor little George. He was ill for a long, long time, and
Charlie shed many a bitter tear of self-reproach while his life was in
danger; and, when he began to get better, the repentant boy was
unwearied in coming to read pleasant stories to him, and to bring him
every nice toy of his own, and beg his mother for little delicacies to
tempt his sickly appetite.

In a few days, when Charlie had somewhat recovered his cheerfulness, his
father had a kind, friendly talk with him in his library, (see picture);
he pointed out to his son the folly and danger of yielding to every
impulse, without first finding out whether it would lead to good
results. Charlie listened to all his father said with respectful
attention, and, I am sure, he profited by his excellent advice, for all
this that I am telling you happened some years ago, and though I know
Charlie intimately, and believe that it is impossible to do right all at
once, still hi