And it was Uncle Tom, who had not been drowned after all, but when the ship was wrecked had managed to get ashore to an island, and there had lived on the fish he caught, and birds’ eggs, and cocoa-nuts, watching for a sail, like Robinson Crusoe. At last the sail came after ten long years. And when he reached England he did not write, but came down to his old home to see who was there, for of course he had heard no tidings all the time.
Nobody recognized him at the village, for the tropical sun had burned his skin brown, and the long waiting and the sorrow and the hardships had turned his hair white. Only his brother knew him by his eyes, for they two had loved each other very much.
“But what will father do with your tombstone?” said Lily gravely, as she sat on her uncle’s knee that night. “It is such a pretty one, with a beautiful angel on it!”
| A Snow Man. |
Oh, the beautiful snow!
We’re all in a glow—
Nell, Dolly, and Willie, and Dan;
For the primest of fun,