How his eyes lingered the next morning upon everything about his home, trying as he did to impress each little portion of the house-furnishing upon his memory! It seemed as if he could not lose sight of his sister Martha’s face. His eyes followed her everywhere. It was almost strange, the devoted affection which had sprung up between the two; and it was so hard, just as they were helping one another along the narrow way through the journey of life, to be obliged to part. But it came, late in the afternoon--the parting--and was over, and Tom found himself in the car looking out at the country, green, and fresh, and beautiful, and trying to realize how long it would be before the familiar faces would be near him again. Of all Tom’s boy friends there was but one who was of this company, and he, although a school-mate, knew Tom only slightly. But he was alone too, and so after a while, seeing the empty seat beside Tom, he came and sat down. “How do you think you’ll like it out there?” he asked, as Tom turned round. “I have hardly thought,” replied Tom. “I do not know anything about it.” “I can tell you a heap then. It’s a big plantation, with quarters for the hands not far from the house. The master lives in a big, white mansion, and has charge of the cotton and cornfields. My brother is there, and he says it’s a pretty good place. Pay is regular, and that’s the most, you know.” “Where shall we stay? Do you know?” asked Tom. “No, I don’t. I ’spects likely we’ll be quartered with some old auntie or other. I don’t much care. They have jolly times after hours--breakdowns and dances. Hi! it’s gay fun!” Tom’s heart sank. He looked out of the window and saw the great trees with their tops just lighted with the rising moon, heard the shrill cry of the mocking-bird, and saw the fireflies lighting up the woods with a thousand tiny lamps. Cool the evening air came across his face, with the motion of the car hurrying on through one of the most glorious countries on which the sun shines. Tom saw it all, and loved it for the sake of Him who made it, but his heart was heavy with the grief of parting, the sting of poverty which sent him away from home, and the prospect before him. Very rebellious, very discontented, his thoughts were for a few minutes, until some old auntie going out with the company, and who had learned with the experience of years to leave her burden of care in His hands “who careth for us,” struck up a hymn, and as the voices one by one joined in with her, until the car was full of the melody which floated out upon the evening air among the moss-laden trees, Tom’s head sank and rested upon the seat in front, and the tears came--tears of penitence and joy--as he listened: “Oh God’s got a plenty for all of his children-- Sit all around God’s table; For God’s got plenty for all his children-- Sit all around God’s table.”