Thanksgiving is over! Its dinner, its frolics, its boisterous mirth, are
all in the past! It is Sabbath evening. A sadness seems to hang about
the party. Lucy had returned to her aunt, with whom she lived. James was
to go home that evening. Henry and Arthur in the morning. They with John
and their mother, sat thoughtfully around the fire; the younger children
were in bed; little was said by any one, but Mrs. Hamilton, wishing to
have a more private interview with Arthur, took him to her room. There
she questioned him about his new home more particularly. To her
amazement, the moment she spoke of his returning, he burst into a flood
of tears. Poor Arthur! he meant to be brave, and to hide his troubles,
but now that his heart had been warmed by the light of affection and
home-joy, the idea of going back was terrible to him. He could not
deceive, or keep back any thing. With passionate earnestness, he
besought his mother to let him stay at home.
"I will only eat a potatoe and a piece of bread, if you will let me
stay, mother; indeed I won't be much of a burden to you, but oh, dear
mother, don't send me back there," cried he, sobbing as if his heart
would break.
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