s brought back a tide of memories, and
he began contrasting that journey with the present. Opposite was the seat
on which his parents had sat, in the bloom of health, and elate with;
joyous anticipations; he remembered--oh! so well--his father's pleasant
smile, his mother's soft and gentle voice. Both now were gone. Death had
made rigid that smiling face--her soft voice was hushed for ever--and the
cold snow was resting on their bosoms in the little churchyard miles away.
Truly the contrast between now and then was extremely saddening, and the
child bowed his head upon the seat, and sobbed in bitter grief.

"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Balch; "not crying again, I hope. I
thought you were going to be a man, and that we were not to have any more
tears. Come!" continued he, patting him encouragingly on the back, "cheer
up! You are going to a delightful place, where you will find a number of
agreeable playmates, and have a deal of fun, and enjoy yourself amazingly."

"But it won't be _home_," replied Clarence.

"True," replied Mr. Balch, a little touched, "it won't seem so at first;
but you'll soon like it, I'll guarantee that."

Clarence was not permitted to indulge his grief to any great extent, for
Mr. Balch soon succeeded in interesting him in the various objects that
they passed on the way.

On the evening of the next day they arrived at their destination, and
Clarence alighted from the cars, cold, fatigued, and spiritless. There had
been a heavy fall of snow a few days previous, and the town of Sudbury,
which was built upon the hill-side, shone white and sparkling in the clear
winter moonlight.

It was the first time that Clarence had ever seen the ground covered with
snow, and he could not restrain his admiration at the novel spectacle it
presented to him. "Oh, look!--oh, do look! Mr. Balch," he exclaimed, "how
beautifully white it looks; it seems as if the town was built of salt."

It was indeed a pretty sight. Near them stood a clump of fantastic-shaped
trees, their gnarled limbs covered with snow, and brilliant with the
countless icicles that glistened like precious stones in the bright light
that was reflected upon them from the windows of the station. A little
farther on, between them and the town, flowed a small stream, the waters of
which were dimpling and sparkling in the moonlight. Beside its banks arose
stately cotton-mills, and from their many windows hundreds of lights were
shining. Behind them,