"If his mother cares about seeing him, she'll find her way out here." With a sadder heart than ever did poor Henry grope his way up into the cold garret that night, with but one thought and one image in his mind, the thought of home and the image of his mother.

He dreamed of her all night.

He was at home.

Her tender voice was in his ear, and his head rested on her bosom.

She clothed him in warmer garments, and set him beside her at the table, upon which was tempting food.