GOING HOME. 365 



into the forest, to see, if I could, my old friend, the boy 

 with whom I had fished the mountain brooks a hundred 

 times in the sunniest days of life ; but I could not see 

 him yet, and — 



"What! asleep, Effendi ? Well, if you don't pay for 

 this with all manner of aches and pains." 



It was Dupont, returned with Jack and the buck-board, 

 and he had found me sound asleep on the rock. 



And as the good horse Jack went up the road at a tre- 

 mendous rate, I failed to answer very clearly the ques- 

 tions he put as to my folly in thus going to sleep in damp 

 clothes on a rock in the open air. For I was thinking of 

 home, and who would be there to welcome me. 



"Better than walking this, isn't it, especially as the 

 moon is clouded now ?" 



"Yes, yes, on foot or in a wagon, it's pleasant anyhow 

 to be going home. Always pleasant, when the work of 

 the day is all done, when the sunlight of the day is no 

 longer bright, nor the twilight soft and beautiful, when the 

 darkness has settled down and we walk only by the light 

 of stars. 



"And there's no doubt about it, when one looks up 

 yonder through the forest- road, through the tree -tops, 

 through the gloom, and thinks of the far-off home and 

 the waiting welcome — there's no mistake about it, my 

 boy, one can't help wishing he might be sent for with 

 swift horses." 



THE END. 



