caress him; but his father did not understand. He could see only the
outward roughness; and he said in his heart:

"It is all because he has never had a chance. He has grown up here on
the prairie like a wild thing. He has never been to school, and I must
send him at once."

With this purpose in his heart John's father decided to return with his
child to the place that had once been his happy home. In making the
change there were, of course, many things to take into consideration.
But under the circumstances, to go seemed the best and proper thing to
do. The sad events, he reasoned, were all in a lifetime; and he must
make the best of them. The home would for a time seem desolate, he knew,
but he thought that perhaps they could become used to it; anyway, his
boy must be in school. The school terms would not be long (for only
three or four months of each year were set apart for school purposes);
but even these short terms would be better than none.

To John the change meant more. The five years that he had spent in the
home of his uncle had made his cousins seem to him like brothers; but
still, as he considered his father's plans, he thought, "Perhaps it may
be all right." His aunt was very kind while John and his father were
preparing to move; and the day they bade her good-by she said such sweet
things that he wanted to throw his arms about her neck. To his mind it
was the very way in which his own dear mother would have spoken had she
been alive.

When all was ready for the departure, the aunt said: "John, here are the
two little turkeys that you have liked so well all summer. You may take
them with you. They will help you to forget that you are alone when your