Fancy had obstinately a mind to bring his mother's gentle tread about him, and to ring the sweet tones of home, and to shew him pictures of the summer light on the hills, and of the little snow-spread valley of winter.

Nay, by the side of that cold fireplace, with Mr.Glanbally at one corner and himself at the other, she set the bright hearth of home, girdled with warm hearts and hands; a sad break in them now for his being away.
Mr.Glanbally had returned to his book and was turning over the leaves of it with his nose; and Winthrop was left alone to his contemplations.

How alone the turning over of those leaves did make him feel.

If Mr.Glanbally would have held up his head and used his fingers, like a Christian man, it would not have been so dreary; but that nose said emphatically, "You never saw me before." It was a help to him when somebody came in to spread that bare table with supper.

Fried pork, and cheese; and bread that was not his mother's sweet baking, and tea that was very "herbaceous." It was the fare he must expect up the mountain.
He did not mind that.