"What is it you mean, my boy?" asked Joel, as he looked at Harry for a moment, and then returned to his book.
"To go home, and see them all," returned Harry.
"Believe I will too," said Joel, slapping his book by way of emphasis. "By the way, Harry," he continued, "my home isn't so very far from yours; only a couple of hours' ride. You live at Bartonville and I live at Brinton, or rather, I did."
"Is that so? Well, then, let us go together."
"What do you intend to do? Give up your situation here for good, or just ask for leave of absence?" asked Joel.
"Oh, I shall give it up entirely," was the answer. "I prefer to get something to do nearer home. What will you do?"
"I shall come back," said Joel, decidedly. "My people are farmers. I could be of no service now on a farm, you know, even if I cared for it, which I don't."
Thus the matter was decided, and arrangements were made accordingly.
One evening, as Mrs. Hazeley sat in her home, all alone, stitching away busily, she was startled to hear a loud rap on the door.
"Who can it be?" she thought, rising to answer the knock. She found herself confronted by a tall, rather slight young man, with a grave face, which, however, was now illuminated by a smile of expectancy.