During the year I lived with
Mr. Judson I many a time thought how I should enjoy my books did my
circumstances allow me to do so, and now all this was within my reach.
As these thoughts passed rapidly through my mind, I looked up in the
kind face of my relative and impelled by a sudden impulse, I seized his
hand and, pressing it to my lips, said, "if I am a good boy and do my
best to please, you will love me a little, won't you, Uncle Nathan?"
"Bless your heart, child," replied my Uncle, "who on earth could help
loving you? Yes, Walter, you may be sure I shall love the son of my
favorite sister, Ellen; and, were it not so, I think I should soon love
you for yourself alone, for, if I am any judge of faces, you are better
than the general run of boys of your age."
Can this, thought I, be the man who wrote that short, crusty letter. I
must confess, that (at first sight) I was not favorably impressed by the
external appearance of the home I was approaching. I had expected to see
a handsome tasty building, painted white perhaps; with green blinds,
like those we had passed on the way from the village; and when Uncle
Nathan said "here we are, Walter, most at home," and I raised my eyes to
gain a view of the homestead, the faded dingy appearance of the house
and its surroundings struck me as unpleasant.
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