mood by the tone of his letters. Sometimes he would write a long and
interesting letter, in such a glowing, playful style, that I would read
it over half-a-dozen times at the least, and perhaps his very next
letter would be just the reverse, short, cold and desponding. Any one
who knew Charley as I did could easily tell the state of mind he was in
when he wrote, but so well did I know the unhappy moods to which he was
subject, that a desponding letter now and then gave me no surprise. In
fact, had the style of his letters been uniformly gay and lively, I
should have been more surprised, so well did I understand his variable
temper. But we both looked forward to our anticipated meeting with all
the eagerness and impatience of youthful expectation. For, as I said
near the opening of my story, I loved Charley as a brother, and so
agreeable and pleasant was his disposition when he was pleased, you
quite forgot for the time being the unhappy tempers to which he was
subject.

There is ever a feeling of sadness connected with the closing of school.
Owing to the excellence of the institution, there were pupils attending
Fulton Academy from many distant places. But with the coming of the
holidays this youthful band, who had daily assembled at the pleasant old
Academy would be scattered far and wide. Probably never all to meet
again on earth. Many of the youths who had studied a sufficient time to
obtain a business education were the coming autumn to go forth to make
their own way in the world. The only intimate friend I had made among
these was a youth whose home was two hundred miles distant from Fulton;
his name was Robert Dalton, and he had studied at Fulton Academy for the
past three years, and, having obtained an education which fitted him for
the business he intended to follow, he expected to return to Fulton no
more. His father was a merchant in one of the cities of the Upper
Province, and in the fall Robert was to enter the store, in order to