. William Henry and his friends . ! Jackys grave was almost covered withwreaths and scattered flowers. I let Tommy go with me that night. He had madeup all himself a little bunch of red berries and sweet-alyssurn. In Tommy, Jacky has a sincere little fellow held fast by my hand as we enteredthe graveyard, walking at a slow, steady pace, quiteunlike his usual hop-skip-and-jump. ]STear the grave Isaw a man sitting, — a poorly-dressed, ungainly-lookingperson. The moment he raised his head,- -it was bentdownwards, — I knew it must be Jackys father. Hescarcely noticed us. We laid our fl
. William Henry and his friends . ! Jackys grave was almost covered withwreaths and scattered flowers. I let Tommy go with me that night. He had madeup all himself a little bunch of red berries and sweet-alyssurn. In Tommy, Jacky has a sincere little fellow held fast by my hand as we enteredthe graveyard, walking at a slow, steady pace, quiteunlike his usual hop-skip-and-jump. ]STear the grave Isaw a man sitting, — a poorly-dressed, ungainly-lookingperson. The moment he raised his head,- -it was bentdownwards, — I knew it must be Jackys father. Hescarcely noticed us. We laid our flowers on the grave,and walked quietly on. Somehow, I felt as if a strangerhad no right to speak to him; that his sorrow was assacred as anybodys sorrow. But afterwards, reflectingupon all the circumstances, I felt that he might have 198 WILLIAM HENRY AND HIS FRIENDS. been grateful for a word of sympathy, and turned backto the grave. The rnan had gone. I shall, however, seehim again, and mean to have some talk with him. . .. The following letter from Lucy Maria to her cousin seemsto come in here better than any of mine which have been pre-served : — Lucy Maria to her MYKA,— I meant to have returned these Bombay pictures andJoes letters long ago. Wish we had a Joe to be send-ing home letters and pretty things all the time ; but WILLIAM HENRY AND HIS FRIENDS. 199 then, if we did have one, twould be pretty hard sendinghim away to sea, especially a Joe like your Joe. Howjust like himself he does write, dont he ? and as if hispen were alive as he is; which is saying a good he could wake up and find himself in our but-tery, where he used to climb to the upper shelf aftergoodies. I dont doubt he does. Wonder if he didntmake a better sailor for all that practice in saw his vessel marked in the paper last night. I dofeel so sorry 3^011 cant all come to Thanksgiving thisyear! I had set niy heart on having a family party;and twill seem quite lone
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookpublisherbosto, bookyear1872
