Temmy brushed away his tears to hear what favourites grandpapa could have. Neither cat, nor squirrel, nor bird had ever met his eye in this house; and the dogs in the court were for use, not play. Dr. Sneyd pointed to his large telescope, and said that the cylinder, without the lenses, was to him no more than a cage without squirrels would be to Temmy. “But you will have the glasses by and by, grandpapa, and I——” “Yes; I hope to have them many months hence, when the snow is thick on the ground, and the sleigh can bring me my packages of glass without breaking them, as the last were broken that came over the log road. But all this time the stars are moving over our heads; and in these fine spring evenings I should like very much to be finding out many things that I must remain ignorant of till next year; and I cannot spare a whole year now so well as when I was younger.” “Cannot you do something while you are waiting?” was Temmy’s question. His uncle Arthur would have been as much diverted at it as Dr. Sneyd himself was; for the fact was, Dr. Sneyd had always twice as much planned to be done as any body thought he could get through. Temmy did not know what a large book he was writing; nor how much might be learned by means of the inferior instruments; nor what a number of books the philosopher was to read through, nor how large a correspondence was to be carried on, before the snow could be on the ground again. “Now let us walk to the creek” was a joyful sound to the boy, who made haste to find the doctor’s large straw hat. When the philosopher had put it on, over his thin grey hair, he turned towards one of his many curious mirrors, and laughed at his own image. “Temmy,” said he, “do you remember me before I wore this large hat? Do you remember my great wig?” “O yes, and the black, three-cornered hat. I could not think who you were the first day I met you without that wig. But I think I never saw any body else with such a wig.” “And in England they would not know what to make of me without it. I was just thinking how Dr. Rogers would look at me, if he could see me now; he would call me quite an American,—very like a republican.” “Are you an American? Are you a republican?” “I was a republican in England, and in France, and wherever I have been, as much as I am now. As to being an American, I suppose I must call myself one; but I love England very dearly, Temmy. I had rather live there than any where, if it were but safe for me; but we can make ourselves happy here. Whatever happens, we always find afterwards, or shall find when we are wiser, is for our good. Some people at home have made a great mistake about me; but all mistakes will be cleared up some time or other, my dear; and in the mean while, we must not be angry with one another, though we cannot help being sorry for what has happened.” “I think uncle Arthur is very angry indeed. He said one day that he would never live among those people in England again.”