At length the breakfast was out of the way; the old man had offered up his morning prayer in presence of the family, as, by request of the parents, he had been accustomed to do, of late; his trunks were packed and ready, and the time had come to say the last farewells.
James brought the horse to the door, at sight of which Willie just began to comprehend that the old man was really going.
"I want to go too!" he cried, clinging to his knees.
Father Brighthopes stooped to kiss his plump brown cheek.
"Oh, let me go!" exclaimed Georgie, who had not thought of such an arrangement before.
"Would you go and leave your father and mother, and Chester and James, and all?" asked the clergyman.
"You show me how to do my sums better than they do; and you give me story-books," replied Georgie, bashfully.
"And they do a thousand times more for you," said the old man, embracing the boy. "They give you clothes, and food, and send you to school, and do more things for you than anybody can think of."
"Oh, you will come again next summer, won't you, Father?" cried Lizzie, kissing him impulsively, when his head was down.
"I am too old and feeble to make any promise for another year," replied Father Brighthopes, smiling tenderly. "But I shall come and see you all again, if Providence grant me that indulgence. Be this as it may, I shall always remember you and love you."