Part 15 (1/2)

GOING HOME.

During all these weary months, Harry Hazeley had not once written home; and neither his mother nor sister knew where he was.

His friend, Joel Piper, had written to his mother, but to his regret, had as yet received no reply. This saddened him, as in his letter he had told of the changes in him, not only in his body, but in his heart and life, for he wished his mother, who had done so much for him, to know.

Harry as yet had no news to write home. Joel was working slowly, it is true, to induce Harry to attend some meetings which were being held successively in different churches. Harry became interested, and later he had the happiness of knowing that he had accepted Christ, and been received by him.

In the meantime he had applied himself steadily and faithfully to his business, and not only earned the respect of his employers, but saved a good share of his money.

”And now,” he thought, triumphantly, ”there is nothing to prevent me from going home.”

This thought took complete possession of him, and in his leisure moments he did little else than picture to himself his home-coming, and the sight of mother, sister, and brother. They would rejoice, he was sure, in his new life. He wondered if Flora had changed much, and in what way Alec pa.s.sed away the days.

These thoughts of home and home-folks, together with the great desire to see them again, gradually wore away the feeling of shame with which he had been a.s.sailed whenever his thoughts had turned that way before.

”Joel!” he exclaimed, as they were sitting together, one pleasant evening, ”I see no other way but to do it!”

”What is it you mean, my boy?” asked Joel, as he looked at Harry for a moment, and then returned to his book.

”To go home, and see them all,” returned Harry.

”Believe I will too,” said Joel, slapping his book by way of emphasis.

”By the way, Harry,” he continued, ”my home isn't so very far from yours; only a couple of hours' ride. You live at Bartonville and I live at Brinton, or rather, I did.”

”Is that so? Well, then, let us go together.”

”What do you intend to do? Give up your situation here for good, or just ask for leave of absence?” asked Joel.

”Oh, I shall give it up entirely,” was the answer. ”I prefer to get something to do nearer home. What will you do?”

”I shall come back,” said Joel, decidedly. ”My people are farmers. I could be of no service now on a farm, you know, even if I cared for it, which I don't.”

Thus the matter was decided, and arrangements were made accordingly.

One evening, as Mrs. Hazeley sat in her home, all alone, st.i.tching away busily, she was startled to hear a loud rap on the door.

”Who can it be?” she thought, rising to answer the knock. She found herself confronted by a tall, rather slight young man, with a grave face, which, however, was now illuminated by a smile of expectancy.

”Harry! Harry! my boy Harry!” she cried, holding open her arms. The mother's quick instinct and penetrating love could not be deceived by appearances, no matter how altered. The form might be changed, and the features matured, but there was something that brought to her the memory of her child, the baby of long ago.

After the first greetings were over, Harry settled down, and prepared to unburden his mind. His mother noticed that he glanced about him wistfully and inquiringly.

”No,” said Mrs. Hazeley, answering the query in his eyes, ”Flora is not here. She went to stay with your Aunt Sarah, who is very ill. I am expecting to go myself, whenever I hear from her to that effect. Alec too, is away. He is living with that good old man, 'Major Benson,' you used to call him, you remember. Alec enjoys a country life. He intends to be a farmer, he says. It was very kind of him to give the boy such an opening. The poor child was so afraid of being a burden to us. I have every reason to be grateful for my children.”

”Except me, mother,” said Harry.

”No, my boy,” returned his mother, looking keenly at him. ”I am sure I have reason to be grateful for you too. But tell me, Harry, where have you been, and why did you not write to us, and keep us posted?”

The entire absence of reproach or fault finding, and the warm affection with which he was received by his mother, touched the young man very deeply, and with his heart made tender with these thoughts, he determined to confide fully all his past to his mother, from whom he felt sure he would receive ready sympathy.