“Yes,” continued Mrs. B., “he seems to have had it on his mind; for last summer, when he saved our little Willy from drowning, and I in gratitude asked him what I should give him, he said he wanted nothing; but if I would only beg of you to let him go to see his sister. I told him I would; but I thought afterward, if he was going to remain with us, it were better he should give up such associations.”
During the above conversation poor Arthur was pursuing his tedious way along a rough frozen road toward the city of P——. In his hand he bore a little bundle, the hoarded treasures of months, destined as gifts for that dear, loved sister. The day had been beautifully clear, but as night approached, dark clouds hung over the earth, and the snow had already begun to fall. Still Arthur continued his lone and weary way; sometimes blinded by the snow, he would stumble into a rut, or fall upon the slippery ground, until completely exhausted, he leaned against a tree for support.
“Who goes there?” cried a rough voice—and a man, bearing an axe upon his shoulder, emerged from the gloom.
“It is a poor boy,” answered Arthur, “that’s going to P—— to see his sister.”
“To P——! not to-night, surely! that’s thirty miles from here. Where are you from, my lad?”
“From L——, sir,” answered Arthur.
“From L——! and have you walked all that distance to-day?”
“I have, sir,” was Arthur’s reply.
“Then you’ve walked far enough for one day, my boy; beside, you are on the wrong track. Come, go home with me, take a good sleep, and start fresh in the morning.”
“Could I get there, to-morrow evening?” asked Arthur, hesitatingly.