gloom and woe of disgrace. There was nothing to be said at such a
time, and they sobbed in silence, until the sound of the ferry-horn
roused Lawry from his lethargy of grief. Some one wished to cross the
lake, and had given the usual signal with the tin horn, placed on a
post for the purpose, at the side of the road.

"There is no ferryman here now," said Mrs. Wilford gloomily.

"I will go, mother," replied Lawry.

"It may be many a day before your father comes back," added Mrs.
Wilford, as she wiped away her tears. "It is a great deal worse than
a funeral."

"We can't help it, mother, and I suppose we must make the best of it."

"I suppose we must; but I don't know what we are going to do."

"We shall do well enough, mother. I will attend to the ferry; but
poor father--"

Lawry, finding he could not speak without a fresh flow of tears,
hastened out of the house. There were two wagons waiting for him; and
when they were embarked in the boat, he pushed off, and trimmed the
sail for the gentle breeze that was blowing up the lake. The
passengers asked for his father; but Lawry could only tell them that
he had gone away: the truth was too painful for him to reveal. He
returned to his desolate home when he had ferried the wagons over the
lake. There was nothing but misery in that humble abode, and but
little sleep for those who were old enough to comprehend the sadness