It seemed to Guy but a few short moments before he was aroused from sleep by the voice of Mr. Harwood, calling to him to light the fire in the stove.

He started up, for a moment, thinking himself in the poor lodging at W——, and wondering why his mother had called him so early. But the sight of the closely packed wagon, and his sleeping companions, immediately recalled to his remembrance his new position and its many duties. He hurriedly left the wagon, but as it was still quite dark to his sleepy eyes, he had to wait a few moments and look cautiously around, before he could decide which way to turn his steps.

The first objects he saw, were the camp-fires, which were smouldering slowly away as if the gray dawn that was peeping over the hills was putting them to shame. He thought to himself "I am the first up," but on going forward a few steps, found himself mistaken, several of the men were moving briskly about, rousing the lazy horses and oxen, or building fires.

"I shall have to be quick," thought Guy, "or I shall be the last instead of the first!" and he went to work with such ardor that he had a fire in the stove, and the kettle boiling over it before any one came to cook breakfast.

He was glad to see that his mother was the first to leave Mr. Harwood's wagon, for he wanted to have a chat with her alone, but his pleasure was soon turned to sorrow when he saw how weary she looked. He feared, at first, that she was ill, but she told him that the baby had passed a restless night and kept her awake. Poor Mrs. Loring could not take up her new life as readily as Guy, and even while she encouraged him always to look upon the bright side, she very often saw only the dark herself.

But no one could long remain dull or unhappy that beautiful spring morning. The dawn grew brighter as the fires died away, and at last the sun extinguished them altogether by the glory of his presence, as he rose above the distant hills.

Guy thought he had never beheld so lovely a scene. There was the busy, noisy camp before him, and beyond it the calm beauty of freshly budding forests, standing forth in bold relief from the blue sky which bore on its bosom the golden sphere whence emanate all light and heat, God's gifts that make our earth so lovely and so fruitful.

Those were Guy's thoughts as he moved about, willingly assisting his mother, and the two young girls who, with their brother had left W—— to seek their fortunes in the far West. Guy pitied them very much for they were unused to work and had at that time a great deal to do. So when he went to the spring for water, he brought also a pailful for them, and when he had a leisure moment, he did any little chores for them that he could. He had not noticed them much the night before, but that morning he became quite well acquainted with them; discovered that the elder was called Amy, and the younger Carrie, and that they were both very pleasant, and appreciative of all little acts of kindness.

Before the sun was an hour high, the breakfast had been partaked of, the camp furniture replaced in the wagons and the train put in motion.

Slowly and steadily the well-trained mules and the patient oxen wended their way towards the Missouri River, and so for nearly two weeks the march was kept up with no incident occurring to break its monotony, save the daily excitement of breaking camp at noon and after a tiresome walk of a dozen miles or more, building the watch fires at night, and talking over the events of the day.

I think had it not been for Aggie, Guy would often have fallen to sleep as soon as he joined the circle round the fire, for he was generally greatly wearied by the labors of the day. Every one found something for Guy to do, and as he never shirked his work as many boys do, be found but little time for rest, and none for play.

So, as I have said, he was usually so tired at night that he would certainly have fallen asleep as soon as he gained a quiet nook by the fire, but for little Aggie, who never failed to take a seat close beside him and ask for a story. So with the little girl on one side, Gus on the other, and George seated where he could hear without appearing to listen, Guy would tell them all the wonderful tales he had ever read, and many beside that were never printed or even known before.

Those hours spent around the glowing fires, were happy ones to the children. Even George, when he looked up at the countless stars looking down upon them from the vast expanse of heaven, was quieted and seldom annoyed either Guy or his eager listeners by his ill-timed jests or practical jokes.

"I wish," said little Aggie one evening, when she was sitting by the fire with her curly head resting on Guy's arms, "that you would tell me where all the pretty sparks go when they fly upward."

"Why, they die and fall to the earth again," exclaimed George, laughing.

"I don't think they do," replied Aggie, "I think the fire-flies catch them and carry them away under their wings."

"And hang them for lamps in butterflies' houses," suggested Guy.

"Oh yes," cried Aggie, clapping her hand in delight. "Do tell us about them, Guy! I am sure you can!"

So Guy told her about the wonderful bowers in the centre of large roses where the butterflies rest at night, of the great parlor in the middle of all, whose walls are of the palest rose and whose ceiling is upheld by pillars of gold, and of the bed chambers on either hand with their crimson hangings and their atmosphere of odors so sweet that the very butterflies sometimes become intoxicated with its deliciousness, and sleep until the rude sun opens their chamber doors and dries the dew-drops upon their wings. And he told them too, how the butterflies gave a ball one night. All the rose parlors were opened and at each door two fire-flies stood, each with a glowing spark of flame to light the gay revellers to the feast.

For a long time they patiently stood watching the dancers, and recounting to each other the origin of the tiny lamps they held.

"I," said one, "caught the last gleam from a widow's hearth, and left her and her children to freeze; but I couldn't help that for my Lady Golden Wing told me to bring the brightest light to-night."

"Yet you are scarcely seen," replied his companion, "and 'tis right your flame should be dull, for the cruelty you showed toward the poor widow, I caught my light from a rich man's fire and injured no one, and that is how my lamp burns brighter than yours."

"At any rate I have the comfort of knowing mine is as bright as that of some others here."

"Nay even mine is brighter than yours," cried a fly from a neighboring rose. "I would scorn to get my light as you did yours. I caught mine from the tip of a match with which a little servant-maid was lighting a fire for her sick mistress. It was the last match in the house too, and it made me laugh till I ached to hear how mistress and maid groaned over my fun."

"You cannot say much of my cruelty when you think of your own," commented the first, "nor need you wonder that your lamp is dull. But look at the light at my Lord Spangle Down's door, it is the most glorious of them all, and held by poor little Jetty Back! Jetty Back! Jetty Back, where did you light your lamp to-night?"

"I took the spark from a shingle roof, beneath which lay four little children asleep," she modestly answered. "It was a fierce, red spark, as you still may see, and it threatened to burn the dry roof and the old walls, and the children too. So I caught it up and bore it away, and the children sleep in safety while I shine gloriously here."

"And so," concluded Guy, "a good deed will shine, and glow, ages after evil and cruel ones are forgotten."

"That is a pretty story," said Aggie, contentedly, "and I am going to bed now to dream all night of the good fly, and her fadeless lamp. Good-night, dear Guy, don't forget that pretty story, for you must tell it again to-morrow."