"Can I find food and shelter here?" he asked, his voice tremulous with
emotion.
The door was shut upon him.
It was not the cold of the piercing storm which he felt then, but the
chill of an inhospitable soul. It froze the warm current of hope that, a
few moments before, had leaped so wildly in his veins; and he went
forth from the elegant mansion, and sat upon the ground and wept.
"O father! why did you send your child so far away to meet the harsh
and cruel treatment of the world when your home abounds with plenty?"
said the weary child.
The shades of night were gathering fast. The cold, damp ground, which had
been his only bed so many nights, offered a poor protection now for his
weary form.
"I was contented there. Why did he send me hither?" was the questioning
of his mind as he sat alone and sad.
As he was about to lay himself upon the ground, he saw light glimmering
through the trees, just as the light of hope breaks on us at the
moment of despair.
"I would journey thither," he said, despondingly; "but rest and shelter
were denied me here. How can I hope to find it elsewhere?"
But hope whispered to his weary heart; and he arose, and passed on.
It was a small, humble dwelling, but one in which dwelt loving hearts.
He turned involuntarily into the little path that wound by fragrant
shrubs and flowers to its door, and then checked himself, as though he
could not bear again a cold denial.
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