LEAVING HOME. ‘ 83,

it down and exatiiitied the iron on the runners—“ all
right,”—and then I dashed away the unbidden tear,
crying inwardly, “I must behave like a man.” I flew
into the kitchen with my kindling-wood.. When the
flames grew bright, my mother came down, and we
had pleasant words together.

I sat down in the chimney corner, to make the
holes and put some leathern strings into my new cow-
hide shoes. Every now and then did I follow my
mother with a loving look, as she ground the coffee,
. or set the table, ‘or baked the cakes for breakfast.

Breakfast was a sad season, though my father spoke
cheerfully. The family altar was surrounded. My
father’s voice trembled and broke as he prayed for me.
Tears flowed freely and hearts were full of sympathy
and strong emotion. ,

I was to depart on foot—a bundle in my hand, con-
taining a change of clothes and a Bible, and half a
crown in-my pocket. A baggage waggon, bélonging
to a neighbouring town, was to take my trunk a week

later. Some dough-nuts and cheesé my kind mother

pf nT