The Doctor divined my feeling, and smiling pleasantly,--"Our leave-taking will not be so hard; it will be _au revoir_, not _adieu_." Harry was the first to leave the breakfast-table. He had made acquaintance with Karl and Fritz that morning, and had promised to help them on a drag they were getting up for hauling brush. He was to join us again in two hours, and we were to have a walk to Ludlow's Woods. "He has been to the post-office this morning!" cried the Doctor, as soon as Harry was out of hearing. It was evident that my mother's unacceptable suggestion still rested on his mind. "He has been to the post-office: that was it! You remember he asked you last night how far to the nearest one? The first thing he does, when he arrives in a place, is to inquire about the means of forwarding letters." "How he must be missed in his home!" my mother said. "Ah, indeed! He is an only son. But, contrary to the custom of only sons, he thinks as much of his home as his home does of him. He has not failed to write a single day of the thirty-five we have been travelling together. His letters cannot have been received regularly of late; but that is no fault of ours." "His parents must be very anxious, when he is so far from them," said my mother. "He knows how to take care of himself,--and of me too," the Doctor added, laughing. "I thought that on this journey I was to have charge of him, but it turned out quite the other way. He assumed the business department from the first. I acquiesced, thinking he would learn something, but expecting to be obliged to come to his aid from time to time. I think it wrong for a man to submit to imposition. I never do. But Harry, open-hearted and lavish,--I thought anybody could take him in. I did not find that anybody wanted to." "I can understand," said my mother, "that, with his trusting disposition and his force of character together, he should always find people do what he expects of them." "You are right,--you are quite right."--The Doctor seldom contradicted my mother, and very considerately when he did.--"It is not your generous men that tempt others to overreach, but your uncertain ones. It seems he carries about with him something of the nature of a divining-rod, that makes men's hearts reveal what of gold they have in them. I have known a churlish-looking fellow, who has come to his door on purpose to warn us thirsty wayfarers off from it, soften when his eye met Harry's, urge us in as if he were afraid of losing us, do his best for us, and then try to refuse our money when we went away. Well, if son of mine could bring but one talent into the world with him, let it be that for being loved; it is worth all others put together." "How many does it not include?" asked my mother. "Truly, there is perhaps more justice in the world than appears on the outside."