"Thank you," said I, rather disconcerted; "I shall go very soon, I suppose." "It will not be long, I daresay," she answered, with another sweetest smile; and I felt it to be her kind wish for me, and was consoled. And when I left her she was standing quietly by her piano; nor did she raise her eyes to follow me to the door. By one of those curious chances that befall some people more than others, I had a cold the next class-night. I was in an extremity of passion to be kept at home,--that is to say, I rolled in my stifling bed with the sulks pressing heavily on my heart, and the headache upon my forehead. Millicent sat by me, and laughingly assured me I should soon be quite well again; I solemnly averred I should never be well, should never get up, should never see Davy any more, never go to Germany. But I went to sleep after all; for Davy, with his usual philanthropy, came all the way up to the house to inquire for me after the class, and his voice aroused and soothed me together. I may say that such a cold was a godsend just then, as it prevented my having to do any lessons. The next day, being idle, I heard nothing of Davy; neither the next. I thought it very odd; but on the third morning I was permitted to go out, as it was very clear and bright. The smoke looked beautiful, almost like another kind of flame, as it swelled skywards, and I met Davy quite glowing with exercise. "What a day for December!" said he, and cheerily held up a letter. "Oh, Mr. Davy!" I cried; but he would not suffer me even to read the superscription. "First for your mother. Will you turn back and walk home with me?" "I must not, sir; I am to walk to the turnpike and back." "Away, then! and I am very glad to hear it." To do myself justice, I did not even run. I could, indeed, for all my impatient hope, scarcely help feeling there is no such blessing as pure fresh air that fans a brow whose fever has lately faded. I came at length to the toll-gate, and returned, braced for any adventure, to the door of my own home. I flew into the parlor; my mother and Davy were alone. My mother was wiping off a tear or two, and he seemed smiling on purpose. "Oh, mother!" I exclaimed, running up to her, "please don't cry." "My dear Charles, you are a silly little boy. After all, what will you do in Germany?" She lifted me upon her lap. Davy walked up to the book-case. "I find, Charles, that you must go immediately,--and, indeed, it will be best if you travel with Mr. Santonio. And how could I send you alone, with such an opportunity to be taken care of! Mr. Davy, will you have the kindness to read that letter to my little boy?" Davy, thus admonished, gathered up the letter now lying open upon the table, and began to read it quite in his class voice, as if we two had been an imposing audience.