haste, and took to the woods for the rest of the day. "That day,"
said she, "you needn't look for William Hinkley to his dinner."

Stevens had been struck with the deportment of this youth, which
had seemed to him haughty and repulsive; and, as he fancied,
characterized by some sentiment of hostility for himself. He was
surprised therefore to learn from the old lady that the lad was
remarkable for his gentleness.

"How long has he been in this way, Mrs. Hinkley?" he asked with
some curiosity.

"Well now, Brother Stevens, I can't tell you. It's been growing on
him for some time. I reckon it's a matter of more than four months
since I first seen it; but it's only been a few weeks that I have
spoken to him. Brother Cross spoke to him only Monday of last week.
My old man don't seem to see so much of it; but I know there's a
great change in him now from what there used to be. A mother's eye
sees a great way farther into the hearts of her children, Brother
Stevens, than any other persons; and I can see plainly that William
is no more the same boy--no! nor nothing like it--that he once was.
Why, once, he was all life, and good humor; could dance and sing
with the merriest among them; and was always so good and kind, and
loved to do whatever would please a body; and was always with somebody,
or other, making merry, and planning the prettiest sports. Now, he
don't sing, nor dance, nor play; when you see him, you 'most always
see him alone. He goes by himself into the woods, and he'll be
going over the hills all day, nobody with him, and never seeming
to care about his food, and what's more strange, never looking at
the books that he used to be so fond of."