Bressant

They drew up, with much squeaking and grating, at a small,

snuff-colored, clap-boarded depot, where a boy, about sixteen, with a

big green carpet-bag, kissed an elderly lady in a black hood, who was

evidently his mother, and jumped aboard with his bag, in a great hurry,

lest she should behold the tears in his eyes. He entered the car in

which Bressant sat, and established himself and his bag on the seat

immediately in front of that upon which the former's feet were resting.

The snuff-colored station and the woman in the black hood slipped away,

and were seen no more. The boy, after scratching a peep-hole through the

frost-work on his window, and taking a last survey through it of the

snow-covered fields he was leaving, produced a large blue-spotted

handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers, and retired with it into

the privacy of his own feelings.

He was a rather delicate-looking boy, with large gray eyes and soft

brown hair, and was evidently not much in the habit of traveling.

Perhaps this was the first time he had ever left home, thought Bressant,

in the idleness of his inactive mind. His mother was a widow; her dark

dress and black hood, and pale, over-worked face looked like it.

Besides, if the boy had had a father, of course he would have been down

to see him off. Probably there were sisters, too; the boy looked somehow

as if he had been brought up with sisters; but they would not have

followed him down to the station; they kissed him good-by at the

house-door, leaving it to his mother to see the very last of him. For be

had resolved to go forth into the world and make his fortune, not to

encumber his poor mother with his support any longer. He was going,

probably, to New York, to be a clerk or an errand-boy in some dry-goods

store, or banking-house, or insurance-office. Once a week--oftener,

perhaps--he would write home to his mother, sending his love to her and

to the girls, telling them how much he wanted to see them all again, but

that he was doing pretty well, and was working, and going to work, very

hard. He would be rich some day, and they should all come to New York

then and live in his house on Fifth Avenue!

Bressant, comfortably extended on his two seats, with his long future of

bodily case and indulgence opening before him--his freedom from all ties

to bind him to any spot, or necessities to compel him to any

labor--Bressant found that the thought of this innocent boy, going forth

into the world, with his green carpet-bag, his loving heart, his

assurance of being loved, his ambition to establish his mother and

sisters on Fifth Avenue, was becoming quite annoying to his mental

serenity. He would think of him no more, therefore, and, to aid himself

in this resolve, he closed his eyes, so as to avoid seeing him. Being

really somewhat weary after his manifold exertions and continued

sleeplessness, his eyes closed very naturally.