That night Mrs. Forge read Nathan a homily on chivalry. There were many things boys could not do without punishment that were perfectly permissible for little girls. III Johnathan Forge “failed” at his store in the Center, as he appeared to fail at everything everywhere. He became convinced he “could do better in a larger place.” Thus came a certain day when Nathan raced up to my house bursting with excitement. “We’re going to move to Paris! We’re going to move to Paris!” he cried. “Dad’s got a job in the newspaper office and we’re going as soon’s we can pack our things.” Going to Paris, Vermont, at that age, was like going to Paris, France, in these later years. It was not something to be negotiated. It was something to be attained. The day the family left town I hung about the Forge house all the forenoon, divided between doing the work of two men gratis, or getting in the way so skillfully that Johnathan Forge was moved to profanity. But the goods were loaded at last and after dinner Nat came over in his “best clothes” to bid me good-by. We spoke as two who are going different ways into far countries. We made light of the situation and the play-times we had enjoyed together, though God knows the tears were close to our eyelids. “I left a swell pair of baby-carriage wheels up in the wigwam in the woods. But you can have ’em for a peach of a cart,” he said generously. A pair of “swell baby-carriage wheels” was a treasure beyond price among boys in those days. Yet I was thinking with an awful heart-pinch that Nathan and I would never play in that wigwam of leaves and brush again. “I suppose you’ll always stay here in Foxboro,” he went on, with the condescension of the city mouse for the country cousin. “But if you ever come to Paris, I’ll expect you to visit me. I’ll probably always live in Paris. It’s a big place. There’s more advantages and op-op-opportunities.” We spoke stiffly and indifferently as the parting grew nearer. “Well, guess I’ll have to be going,” he said. “Good-by.” “Good-by,” I said. “Maybe some day when we grow up we’ll meet again.” “Yes, good-by.” “Good-by.” John Forge was driving his family over the road in a democrat wagon. I came to the gate to wave to them as they passed down the road and around the turn. Then the vehicle turned the corner and the road was empty. The road? The world was empty. For the first time in my life I knew loneliness—horrible, unbearable, numbing loneliness—worse than the loss of my father! My mother came up to put me to bed that night. She understood my tight silence. I was trying hard to keep my nerve, but the thought of coming days, weeks, months, years without Nat was dawning upon me in all its hideous emptiness. That night I was very glad I had a mother and that she was not twitching-faced and pin-pointed of eye like Nathan’s. ------------------------------------------------------------------------