circles was the fascinating and romantic occupation in which they were
engaged.

No one was more busy than Mrs. Kingston. Even if her son was to be only a
chore-boy, his equipment should be as comfortable and complete as though
he were going to be a foreman. She knew very well that Jack Frost has no
compunctions about sending the thermometer away down thirty or forty
degrees below zero in those far-away forest depths; and whatever other
hardships Frank might be called upon to endure, it was very well settled
in her mind that he should not suffer for lack of warm clothing.
Accordingly, the knitting-needles and sewing-needles had been plied
industriously from the day his going into the woods was decided upon; and
now that the time for departure drew near, the result was to be seen in a
chest filled with such thick warm stockings, shirts, mittens, and
comforters, besides a good outfit of other clothing, that Frank, looking
them over with a keen appreciation of their merits and of the loving
skill they evidenced, turned to his mother, saying, with a grateful
smile,--

"Why, mother, you've fitted me out as though I were going to the North
Pole."

"You'll need them all, my dear, before the winter's over," said Mrs.
Kingston, the tears rising in her eyes, as involuntarily she thought of
how the cruel cold had taken from her the father of the bright, hopeful
boy before her. "Your father never thought I provided too many warm
things for him."

Frank was in great spirits. He had resigned his clerkship at Squire
Eagleson's, much to that worthy merchant's regret. The squire looked upon