. I came up to him, and found him plucking the wild-flowers
from the grass as he wandered slowly along. I looked at him as I
passed, and found him weeping.

"Alfred!" I exclaimed, "What do you here so early?"

The boy burst into a fresh flow of tears, and threw himself
passionately into my arms. He sobbed piteously, and at length said--

"Do not go, sir--do not leave me! You have been so kind to me. Pray,
stop."

"What is the matter Alfred?"

"John has told me you are going, sir. He has just taken your box down.
Oh, Mr. Stukely, stay for my sake! I won't give you so much trouble
as I used to do. I'll learn my lessons better--but don't go, pray,
sir."

"You will have another teacher, Alfred, who will become as good a
friend as I am. I cannot stay. Return to the parsonage--there's a
dear boy."

"Oh, if you must go, let me walk with you a little, sir! Let me take
your hand. I shall be back in time for breakfast--pray, don't refuse
me that, sir?"

I complied with his request. He grasped my palm in both his hands,
and held it there, as though he would not part with it again. He
gave me the flowers which he had gathered, and begged me to keep
them for his sake. He repeated every kind thing which I had done for
him, not one of which he would forget, and all the names and dates
which he had got by heart, to please his tutor. He told me that it
would make him wretched, "to get up to-morrow, and remember that I
was gone;" and that he loved me better than any body, for no one had
been so indulgent, and had taken such pains to make him a good boy.
Before we reached the village, his volubility had changed the tears
to smiles. As we reached it, John appeared on his return homeward. I
gave the boy into his charge, and the cloud lowered again, and the
shower fell heavier than ever. I turned at the point at which the
hills became shut out, and there stood the boy fastened to the spot
at which I had left him.

At the door of the inn, I was surprised to find my luggage in the
custody of Dr. Mayhew's gardener. As soon as he perceived me, he
advanced a few steps with the box, and placed note in my hand. It
was addressed to me at the parsonage, and politely requested me to
wait upon the physician at my earliest convenience. No mention was
made of the object of my visit, or of the doctor's knowledge of my
altered state. The document was as short as it might be, and as
courteous. Having read it, I turned to the gardener, or to whe