"We might have staid in the house through the summer. It is empty, and like to be; but father and mother said they had rather go at once than be dreading it. The neighbors were very kind, and helped us move (what little we had to move), as everything of any value went to the creditors, with the exception of my books and stock of tools; that father didn't give up, because he said they were my tools, with which to earn my bread. They had been given to me by him when he was solvent, and the creditors could not touch them.
"During the labor and excitement of moving, and before the neighbors, we strove to appear as cheerful as possible; but when all was over, and we came out on to this platform where we are sitting, each bearing something that had been forgotten,—I my violin and a pair of andirons, mother her press-board and a coffee-pot, the girls knives, forks, and spoons, father shovel and tongs,—I tell you, the sound of the bolt going into its place when he locked the door gave me a heartache.
"After we got off the steps, and turned round to take a last look at the old home, that never seemed half so lovely before, we couldn't any of us keep the tears back. I don't know but you will think it weak, but it made me feel real bad to see my dog, Fowler, wagging his tail, and frisking as though it was a holiday, and I almost wished I was a dog."
"Weak, Rich? A boy that could leave a home like that, where all his associations were formed, as he would leave an inn, or get out of a stage-coach, and never look back, could not be a friend of mine."
"The old cat would not go. She came and rubbed up against my legs, then went back, sat on the steps, looked after us, and mewed when we called her, but would not come.
"'Give me your things, my son,' said father, 'and go and get her.'
"I took her up, and carried her with us, but she went back the next day."
"I see a black and white cat now," said Morton, "sitting on the spur root of yonder big white oak."