attend to the duties of his place.

"And, said his tender mother--a tear starting from her eye, which she
wiped away with the corner of her lindsey-woolsey, while she spake--
'your _Bible_, Enoch, you will find in your bundle--don't forget
_that_--and you must pray for us--my son--'

"She could say no more--and Enoch could hear no more. Without even
bidding them 'farewell'--for his heart was too full for that--he
shouldered his little pack, and took his way down the lane, which led
to the road he was to take.

"At a few rods distance, he stopped to take one more look of the old
place, so dear to him. His mother was standing at the window. She had
felt the full tenderness of a mother for him before--but his love of
home--his pause--his gaze--his tears--now almost overwhelmed her.

[Illustration]

"Enoch caught a glimpse of his mother, and saw her agony. He could
trust himself no longer--and summoning his energies, hurried over the
hills, which soon hid the scenes of his youth from his view.

"In after years--many years after--even when he became an old man, he
would speak of this scene, with deep feeling. He could never forget
it. He said he felt for a time alone in the world--cut off from all he
held dear. I do not wonder," said Gen. P. "that he felt much, for well
do _I_ remember the pain I felt, _the first time leaving home_."