"Mid pleasures and palaces tho' we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met elsewhere.
"An exile from home, splendour dazzles in vain,
Oh! give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gaily that came at my call,
And give me the peace of mind dearer than all?"
Andrew, when he saw Harry crying, felt very much inclined to join him.
There was a big lump in his throat that he could hardly gulp down. But
then Andrew was a bit simple.
Harry jumped up presently and took two or three strides up and down the
floor of the little room, and so mastered his grief.
"It won't be for such a very long time, you know, Andrew," he said.
"No," said Andrew, brightening up. "And I'll look after your garden,
Harry."
"Thank you, Andrew, and the turning lathe and the tools?"
"I'll see to them. You'll find them all as bright as new pins on your
return."
"And my pets, Andrew?"
"Yes."
"Well, look after those too. Sell them all as soon as you can--rats,
mice, guinea-pigs, and pigeons, and all."
"Yes."
"And, Andrew, keep the money you get for them to buy snuff."
"Good-bye, Andrew."
"Good-bye. Mind you take care of yourself."
"I'll do that for my mother's sake."
Andrew pressed Harry's soft hand between his two horny palms for just a
moment.
"God bless you, Harry!" he muttered.
He could not trust himself to say more, his heart was too full.
Then away went Harry, grasping his stick in his hand and trudging on
manfully over the hills, with his face to the east.
By and by the sun rose, and with it rose Harry's spirits. He thought no
more of the past. That was gone. He felt a man now; he felt he had a
future before him, and on this alone he permitted his thoughts to rest.
Now I do not mean to vindicate that which my hero has done--quite the
reverse. Obedience to the wishes of his parents is a boy's first duty.
Still, I cannot help thinking that my young hero had a bold heart in his
breast.
See him now, with the sun glinting down on his ruddy face, on which is a
smile, and on his stalwart figure; he is more like a boy of fifteen than
a child under twelve. How firm his tread on the crisp and dazzling
snow, how square his shoulders, how springy and lithe his gait and
movement! No, I'm not ashamed of my hero. Hear him. He is singing--
"There is many a man of the Cameron clan
That has followed his chief to the field,
And sworn to support him or die by his side,
For a Cameron never can yield.
"The moon has arisen, it shines on that path,
Now trod by the gallant and true--
High, high are their hopes, for their chieftain has said,
That whatever men dare they can do.
I hear the pibroch, sounding, sounding,
Deep o'er the mountains and glens,
While light-springing footsteps are trampling the heath--
'Tis the march of the Cameron men."
Poor brave, but rather wayward, boy! the gallant ship is even now lying
in Lerwick Bay that soon shall bear him far o'er Arctic seas.
Book 2--CHAPTER ONE.