So the little fellow wandered out to the barn, and felt very lonely as he climbed up on the hay-mow to make sure that his dearest earthly friend had indeed gone. He sat down to wonder where Uncle Phin was, and how long it would be before he would come to take him away from that unhappy place. He wished that he might stay right where he was, and not be compelled to see any of the family again, and was feeling very wretched and forlorn generally. All at once he heard Cynthia’s voice calling the chickens around her on the barn floor where she fed them every morning. Here was somebody for whom he cared, and the thought that he was so soon to leave her, probably forever, filled him with a pang of mingled pain and love.
He slid down from the hay-mow to where his little cousin stood, and as she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him and told him how much she loved him and how sorry she was for him, he began to realize how hard it would be to part from her, and to wonder if after all he ought to run away with Uncle Phin.
Cynthia was a loving and lovable little soul, and though she had a freckled face, it was lighted by a pair of glorious brown eyes. Her hair was of a rich brown, flecked with specks of red gold where the sunlight shone through it. It was just such hair as the sun loves to kiss, and the merry wind delighted to toss it into the most bewitching tangles whenever it was not closely imprisoned under the little pink sun-bonnet. It reminded Arthur of his own dear mother’s hair, and often when they were playing together he would snatch off the pink sun-bonnet just for the pleasure of seeing it ripple down over her shoulders. His own used to be long, almost as long as Cynthia’s, but his Aunt Nancy had cut it off when he first came to live there, and it had been clipped short ever since, greatly to Uncle Phin’s sorrow.
While Arthur and Cynthia were feeding the chickens, and the former was almost forgetting his recent loneliness, Mr. Dustin came into the barn. He greeted both the children pleasantly, and even kissed them, a thing that Arthur wondered at, for he could not remember that it had ever happened before. Then he asked, “Do you know where Uncle Phin is, Arthur?”
“I think he has gone away,” replied the boy, flushing and looking down, for it seemed somehow as though he were not exactly telling the truth.
“Do you know where he has gone?”
“No, sir, I do not,” was the honest reply, and the boy looked his questioner squarely in the face as he made it.
“Well, I believe you, of course,” said his uncle, “and I suppose he must have taken it into his head to leave us, though it seems very strange that he should have done so without bidding you good-bye, or telling you where he was going.”
This was too much for Arthur’s sense of honor, and speaking up manfully, he said: “He did tell me he was going away, Uncle John, and bid me good-bye but he didn’t tell me where he was going, and he didn’t want me to say anything about it unless I had to.”
“I am glad you have told me this,” said Mr. Dustin, “and since he has gone I must say I am not very sorry. Now come in to breakfast.”