hear me complain," he said to himself, "and dear mother too shall never know how bad I feel. I want to do my duty, and be a brave boy."
Every fortnight a letter came from home, and though Arthur read it with streaming eyes, it was a precious treasure. He would read them over and over, till he seemed to hear his mother's voice once more, and feel her loving hand upon his head. He answered them; but wrote only a few words, saying, he was well, and the other common place remarks children usually write. He was not happy, but he was calmer now, and did not every night cry himself to sleep. The visit at home, was a bright, cheering spot, to which he often looked forward; and as week after week passed away, slowly indeed, he rejoiced in the certainty that that long-looked-for period was getting nearer and nearer, and would come at last.
Thanksgiving! dear, delightful Thanks
A total bummer of story! in the guise of encouraging poor (read: wretched) folk to embrace The Redeemer's love when death takes children, abandonment destroys families, poverty sunders households. Not for children! Certainly not a "boy's own" type of story; a maudlin and depressing "Christian" tract. No wonder it's anonymous.
Very little about the dog, too.