ched the landing place near their home.

Mr Landon kept to his promise to call a bee, and in three days a
substantial log-house was erected, and the planks laid down of the
ground and upper floors. The rest of the work, it was left to Rob and
his brothers to finish.

Great was the surprise of Mrs Hale, when her sons, with her husband and
Fanny, took her to see the house which she had thought was being built
for some stranger coming to the settlement.

"It's yours and father's, mother, just an offering from your children,"
said Rob. "If you will let Fanny and me have the old one, we hope to
make ourselves happy in it."

Mrs Hale thanked her dutiful children, and thanked God for having
brought them to a country where their industry and perseverance had been
so fully rewarded.

STORY FOUR, CHAPTER 1.

JOHN ARMSTRONG, THE SOLDIER; OR, BARRACK AND CAMP LIFE, WRITTEN BY
HIMSELF.

I do not think that any one will care to know why I turned soldier.
This much I may say, though; my native village was not far off some
barracks within twenty miles of London; I had often watched the soldiers
at drill, and had talked to a good many of them, till I fancied that I
knew something about a soldier's life. Now I wish to tell you what it
really is, not only in comfortable barracks at home, but in camp abroad,
in heat and cold, and before the enemy. I had my reasons for wishing
not to enlist near home, and so bidding my parents and brothers and
sisters good-bye, they not crying out, "Don't go," at break of day, one
fine October morning, in the year 1850, started off for London without a
penny in my pocket, or any other property than the clothes on my back,
good health, and a stout heart.

I had walked a fair bit of the way, when I felt very hungry. I had
taken nothing before I left home. Food I must have. Before me I saw a
public-house, The Rabbits. A number of people were in the bar-room.
"I'll tell them I'm going for a soldier, and ask for food. They'll not
refuse me," I thought. I stepped in, and told them my tale. They all
seemed much pleased. "You must have pluck in you, my lad, to do that,"
said one; "you deserve a breakfast."

"You'll have no want of masters," observed another. "Still somebody
must do the work." Most of them had some remark to make. In the end,
they ordered me a thorough good breakfast of eggs and ham, and hoped I
might never have a worse wherever I might go. This set me up till I
reach