So, mindful of her child's happiness, and all unmindful of her own, she sent him from her to Newburyport, which he loved inexpressibly.

He was now in his eleventh year.

Very happy he was to see once more the streets and landmarks of the old town--the river, and the old house where he was born, and the church next door and the school-house across the way and the dear friends whom he loved and who loved him.

He went again to live with the Bartletts, doing with his might all that he could to earn his daily bread, and to repay the kindness of the dear old deacon and his family.
It was at this time that he received his last scrap of schooling.

He was, as we have seen, but eleven, but precious little of that brief and tender time had he been able to spend in a school-house.