Sadly and slowly Amos made his way back to the market-town, his thoughts, as he rode along, being far from pleasant companions.  What was to be the end of all this?  Could he have done differently?  No.  He was satisfied that duty plainly called him to the sacrifice which he had made.  He would have reproached himself bitterly had he lost the opportunity of recovering his little nephew from such a father.  He had no doubt, then, taken one right step; the next he must leave to the same heavenly guidance which never had misled nor could mislead him.  So having waited in the town till he had refreshed himself with a mid-day meal, he made his way back along the roads he had travelled the day before, and in due time arrived in sight of the finger-post, and of the child who was sitting alone beneath it, his little head buried in his lap, till, roused by the sound of the pony's feet, he looked up, and with a joyful cry ran to meet his uncle.  Another moment, and Amos had sprung from his saddle and was clasping the sobbing, laughing child to his heart.