“Mid pleasures and palaces tho’ we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home;
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek thro’ the world, is ne’er met elsewhere.
“An exile from home, splendour dazzles in vain,
Oh! give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gaily that came at my call,
And give me the peace of mind dearer than all?”
Andrew, when he saw Harry crying, felt very much inclined to join him. There was a big lump in his throat that he could hardly gulp down. But then Andrew was a bit simple.
Harry jumped up presently and took two or three strides up and down the floor of the little room, and so mastered his grief.
“It won’t be for such a very long time, you know, Andrew,” he said.
“No,” said Andrew, brightening up. “And I’ll look after your garden, Harry.”
“Thank you, Andrew, and the turning lathe and the tools?”
“I’ll see to them. You’ll find them all as bright as new pins on your return.”
“And my pets, Andrew?”
“Yes.”
“Well, look after those too. Sell them all as soon as you can—rats, mice, guinea-pigs, and pigeons, and all.”