John, finding it impossible to inspire Uncle Isaac with his own enthusiastic confidence, let the matter drop, and for a while they rowed on in silence. At length John said, “I tell you what makes me think that boy is a good friend for me; he knows a great many things that I don’t know, and I know a great many things that he don’t. I know he’s tender-hearted.”
“How do you know that?”
“I asked him if he had any mother, and he almost cried when he told me she was dead. Now, when a boy loves his mother, isn’t it a good sign?”
“The best sign in the world, John.”
“And then the way he talked about her, and about good things. I don’t know as he’s a religious boy,—what mother calls pious,—but I know he’s a good boy; you know anybody can tell.”
“Well, John, I guess you’re right; you have found out more about him in one hour than I could in six months.”
“Well, we’re bound to be thick together, I know that.”
CHAPTER IV.
GRIT AND GRATITUDE.
It was now the month of October. The early frosts had rendered the air sharp and bracing. The nights were long, affording abundance of sleep, and the forests were clothed in all the tints of autumn. Ben, encouraged by the unexpected success he had met with in the sale of his timber, assured that his wife was contented and happy, and his mind buoyant with hope, drove the axe through the timber in very wantonness of strength. It was no trifling addition to his happiness to find that Charlie was not only industrious, but had a natural aptitude for the use of tools.