At length the time for sailing came; and lashed fast to an energetic little steam-tug, the steamer swung off from the pier and moved slowly down the stream.
There was a crowd left behind that waved a parting adieu, cheers and tears well mixed. On board some were laughing, some crying.
Oliver felt mighty sober. There was no one to see him off; yet he was leaving home and friends behind. When would he see all again?
Before long a tear stole down his cheek. He brushed it away hastily and took a deep breath. How he wished they were well on their way, and this parting was over! And yet he strained his eyes until the pier could be seen no longer, and eagerly watched the shore with its varied shipping.
“No use in talking, there is nothing like home,” he murmured to himself; “if it wasn’t for what I hope to accomplish, you wouldn’t catch me leaving it.”
Suddenly a snatch of song reached his ears,—
“The dearest spot on earth to me is home, sweet home.”
“Paine spoke the truth when he wrote that,” said Oliver to a man standing near.
“You’re right, Oliver,” added a voice from behind, and turning, the boy was dumfounded to see Gus Gregory standing close at hand.