234 



All Night oil a Mou7itain. 



^^'e had hardly gone two miles, when 

 "Will sank down and said: 



"Oh, Ned; I can't walk another step, 

 I've a blister on my foot as big as a hen's 



egg-" 



I proposed going on alone, and getting 

 a boat, and then I would pick him up on 

 the way back, but he wouldn't let me. So 

 we had to sit down and rest, and then I 

 thought, " Perhaps I can persuade him to 

 go a little further." But that did not work, 

 for long before he began to be in the least 

 rested, it had grown so dark we could 

 scarcely see. 



Poor Will, I don't wonder he was tired, 

 he was a whole year younger than I was 

 and not half as strong, and a walk like that 

 is enough to tire out any eleven-year-old 

 boy. 



We did not much fancy the idea of stay- 

 ing out all night, and what made it more 

 disagreeable was the howling of a wildcat 

 not far off. 



We tried to look on the bright side of 

 things, but it was hard work; we would 

 keep thinking of home and what they were 

 doing there. Mrs. Campbell, who was an 

 invalid, was probably sitting in the corner 

 of the porch that was most sheltered, and 

 mamma pacing the terrace with Effie, 

 wondering what made me so late. 



And so the sun set, and the twilight 

 deepened, and night came on; and with it 

 the queer summer night noises, which one 

 don't mind at home, safe in bed, but ob- 

 jects to most decidedly out in the woods 

 alone, particularly if a wildcat leads the 

 concert. 



They made such a din, that, tired as I 

 was, I could not for a long time get a wink 

 of sleep. I rather envied Will, who slept 

 as peacefully through it all as if he was at 

 home in his own bed. 



After a long time I got used to the noise 

 and dropped off. I do not think I dreamed 

 anything, but I woke up about half an hour 

 before dawn with the idea that mamma was 



calling me, so I sat up with a start, and oh, 

 how dark and lonely the woods were. The 

 concert had stopped and all was as still as 

 death. The silence, I think, was worse 

 than the noise. 



I turned to Will, who had not changed 

 his position, and felt almost inclined to 

 wake him to keep me company. I am glad 

 now that I did not do such a selfish thing. 

 At last the sense of utter loneliness got the 

 better of me, and I leaned my head on my 

 arms and cried, yes, cried hard, although I 

 was twelve years old, and big for my age. 

 I never felt so badly in all my life. So I 

 cried for mother and I cried for home, and 

 I felt better for it. 



When I was pretty nearly through, I heard 

 a faint little noise. I stopped and listened, 

 and then I heard a faint little peep, such a 

 lonely, forsaken, homesick little peep, that 

 it w^ent straight to my heart and cut like a 

 knife. 



Of course I knew what it was, and it sent 

 me right down into the blues again, just as 

 I was getting better, when I remembered 

 how the mother bird had cried that after- 

 noon when we robbed the nest. And then 

 I thought of how those poor little birds 

 must have felt, out away from home all 

 night, as long as I felt so badly myself, and 

 how much more helpless they were than we, 

 till I wondered at, and despised myself for 

 being so heartless and cruel. And then 

 came the thought of my mother, and of 

 what she would say if I told her. I fancied 

 I saw her face grow grave as she said: 



"Oh! Ned, Ned; I did not think my son 

 would do so mean and so cruel a thing." 



It made me feel awfully bad, and I made 

 up my mind that just as soon as it was 

 light enough I would put them back in the 

 nest if I had to walk ten miles to do it. As 

 soon as it was light enough to see, I went 

 to look at my prisoners, and oh! what a 

 sight met me. One of them was dead and 

 the other was crying piteously. What if 

 one of us had died that night on the moun- 



