Arthur Hamilton, and His Dog - 12

Charlie, the baby, as he is called, now almost three years old, has
donned his new red flannel dress, and white apron, in honor of the day.
James is cracking butternuts in one corner, and a well-heaped milk-pan
is the trophy of his persevering toil. Lucy, the eldest sister, has come
home, and she and Mary are deep in some confidential conversation the
opposite side of the room, stopping every now and then to listen, as if
expecting to hear some pleasant sound. Among them all, the mother moves
with a beaming face and quiet step, completing the arrangements of the
table, which is standing at the backside of the room, covered by a snowy
cloth, and decorated with the best plates, and china cups and saucers,
the relics of more prosperous days.

"Hurra, they've come! they've come!" said James, tossing down his
hammer, and bounding over the pan of nuts; "that's our wagon, I know."

All are at the door. 'Tis they! Yes, 'tis John and Arthur, our dear
little Arthur home again! How they all seize upon and kiss him! How the
mother holds him to her heart with tearful eyes! Ah, this is joy; such
joy as can be purchased only by separation and suffering. Who that
looked now on Arthur's beaming eye, and glowing cheek, could dream that
they had been clouded by sorrow, or dimmed by tears?

Of all the happy groups that were assembled in our old Commonwealth that
night, few we think were happier than this. Rover was by no means a
silent witness of the joy. He would not leave Arthur's side a moment,
and constantly sought to attract his notice. Arthur had been always very
fond of Rover, almost more so than the other children, though he was a
great favorite with all, and Rover had missed him since he went away
almost as much as Arthur had missed Rover; so it was a joyful re-union
on both sides. He was a large dog, of the Newfoundland breed, with
shaggy hair. He had beautiful white spots, and long, silky ears, and was
a very good-natured dog. He would let Charlie get on his back, and ride
him all about the yard; and the boys had made a little sled to which
they fastened Rover, and Emma, well wrapped up in her hood and cloak,
with her woolen mittens on, would have quite long rides after him;
sometimes in the yard, and sometimes in the street.

Arthur Hamilton, and His Dog - 11

CHAPTER II.


THANKSGIVING.

Thanksgiving! dear, delightful Thanksgiving! What a happy sound in all
childish ears! What visions of roast turkeys, plum puddings, and pumpkin
pies rise before us at the name! What hosts of rosy cheeks, sparkling
eyes, nicely-combed little heads, and bounding feet; what blazing fires
and warm parlors; what large stuffed rocking-chairs, with
comfortable-looking grandpapas and grandmamas in them; what huge bundles
of flannel, out of which, plump blue-eyed babies roll; what stuffed
hoods and cloaks, from which little boys and girls emerge; and better
than all, what warm hearts brimming with affection; what sweet songs of
joyful praise; what untold depths of "sacred and home-felt delight,"
belong to thee, dear, glad, Thanksgiving-day!

Let us look in at Mrs. Hamilton's on Thanksgiving eve. Every thing in
her little sitting-room is just as clean as it can possibly be; the fire
burns brightly, and the blaze goes dancing and leaping merrily up the
chimney, diffusing throughout the room an aspect of cheerfulness. Henry,
"the student," as John calls him, is at home; for of course it is
vacation in his school; and his mother looks with pride on the manly
form and handsome face of this her favorite boy, who has certainly grown
taller and handsomer since his last visit at home, in her eyes at least;
and who is now entertaining himself by teaching his pet, Emma, (a little
girl of four,) to repeat the Greek alphabet, and whose funny
pronunciation of Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, &c., is received with peals
of laughter by the other children.

"We will make a famous Greek scholar of you yet," said Harry, "who
knows, darling Em, but you may be a great poetess before you die? But
you won't be a blue stocking, I hope!"

"My stockings are _red_," said the unconscious Emma; "mother don't
make me _blue_ stockings," sticking out her little feet by way of
confirming the fact.

Arthur Hamilton, and His Dog - 10

We need not dwell on the first weeks of Arthur's stay at Mr. Martin's.
They thought him a little homesick, but presumed he would soon get over
it; he performed the little tasks they exacted of him with great
alacrity, and was quite a favorite with Mrs. Martin, who said he was the
most quiet, and well-behaved child she ever saw. At first, Arthur
thought of nothing but home, and home-scenes; but he struggled bravely
to rise above sad and sorrowful thoughts, and to be contented. "They
shall never hear me complain," he said to himself, "and dear mother too
shall never know how bad I feel. I want to do my duty, and be a
_brave_ boy."

Every fortnight a letter came from home, and though Arthur read it with
streaming eyes, it was a precious treasure. He would read them over and
over, till he seemed to hear his mother's voice once more, and feel her
loving hand upon his head. He answered them; but wrote only a few words,
saying, he was well, and the other common place remarks children usually
write. He was not happy, but he was calmer now, and did not _every_
night cry himself to sleep. The visit at home, was a bright, cheering
spot, to which he often looked forward;  and as week after week passed
away, slowly indeed, he rejoiced in the certainty that that
long-looked-for period was getting nearer and nearer, and _would_
come at last.

Arthur Hamilton, and His Dog - 9

Rover refused at first to leave Arthur, but John lifted him into the
wagon, and drove off.

It was a lonely evening to Arthur. There was no frolic with Rover and
the children on the green; no kind mother's voice to call him in; no
affectionate good-night kiss for the little stranger. Mr. and Mrs.
Martin were very kind-hearted people, but they had little sympathy with
a child, and made no conversation with him. There was no hardship
imposed on Arthur; indeed they required less of him than he had been
accustomed to doing at home, and had he been a courageous, light-hearted
boy like his brother James, he would soon have been very happy in his
new home. But we have said he was shy and sensitive; like a delicate
plant he needed sunshine to develope his nature, and shrank from the
rough chilling blast.

None, who has not experienced it, can know any thing of the suffering
such a child endures when deprived of the sweet influences of home. Such
an one often appears dull and stupid to a careless observer, when there
is throbbing under that cold exterior, a heart of the keenest
sensibility. Let the bold, healthy, active boy be sent from home, if
necessary; a little hardship, and a little struggling with the rougher
elements of life, will perchance but strengthen and increase his
courage, and prepare him for the conflicts and struggles of after years;
but oh, fond mother, keep that delicate, timid child which nestles to
thy side with such confiding trust, which trembles at the voice of a
stranger, and shrinks like the mimosa, from a rude and unfamiliar touch,
under thine own sheltering roof-tree, for a time at least; there seek to
develope and strengthen his delicate nature into more manly strength and
vigor; there judiciously repress excessive sensibility, and increase
confidence in himself and others; if it can possibly be avoided, do not
expose him, while a child, to the tender mercies of those who do not
understand his peculiar temperament, and who, however kind their
feelings, cannot possess his confidence.