To clasp at my bosom at even,
O'er his calm sleep to breathe out a vow,
And pray for the blessing of Heaven."

"Poor mother, how that makes her cry! Why, I declare, I'm crying too!
Somehow seems's if I couldn't get along without mother. But there, I
won't be a cry-baby! Hush up, Willy Parlin!

"WHAT'LL I DO? Wish I hadn't come. Wish I'd thought more about
mother--how she's going to feel.

"What if I should turn right round now, and go home? Why, father'd whip
me worse'n ever--_that's_ what. Well, who cares? It'll feel better after
it's done smarting. Guess I can stand it. Look here, Will Parlin, I'm
going."

Bravo, Willy! With both feet he plunged into the river, and waded slowly
across. Very slowly, for his mind was not fully made up yet. There was a
great deal of thinking to be done first; but he might as well be moving
on while he thought. Every now and then rebellious pride, or anger, or
shame would get the better of him, and he would wheel round, with the
impulse to strike off into the unknown _Somewhere_, where boys lived
without whippings. But the thought of his mother always stopped him.

Was there an invisible cord which stretched from her heart to his--a
cord of love, which drew him back to her side? He could see her
sorrowful face, he could hear her pleading voice, and the very tremble
in it when she sang,--

"I ha'e naebody now, I ha'e naebody now."

"But I'd never go back and take that whipping, if it wasn't for mother!"

He no longer felt obliged to hide from the approach of every human
being; and when a pedler, driving a "cart of notions," called out, "Want
a lift, little youngster?" he was very glad to accept the offer. To be
sure, he only rode two or three miles, but it was a great help.

It was noon, by that time, "high noon too," and the smell of nice
dinners floated out to him from the farm-houses, as he trudged by; but
to beg a meal he was ashamed. When he reached Cross Lots it was the
middle of the afternoon. He went up to the stump near the mill, where he
and Freddy had sat the night before; and, as he seated himself, he
thought with a pang of that pocket full of doughnuts, so freely made way
with.

He had eighteen cents in his wallet; but what good did it do, when there
was no store at hand where a body could buy so much as a sheet of
gingerbread? He was starving in the midst of plenty, like that
unfortunate man whose touch turned all the food he put in his mouth into