was much annoyed to find a dead
leaf sticking to Granny Pyetangle's scanty grey hair. "How a rubbishy
leaf o' dog-wood came to get there, is more nor _I_ can account for,"
she said crossly, as she swept it away into the fire, before 'Zekiel
could interfere to rescue it.

Granny Pyetangle's recovery was wonderfully rapid. Every day she was
able to do a little more, and 'Zekiel's triumph was complete when he
was allowed to help her down the stairs into the kitchen, and seat her
quavering, but happy, on the great chair in the chimney corner.

"Well, it do seem pleasant to be about agin," said Granny Pyetangle,
smoothing her white linen apron. "No'but you have kept the place
clean, 'Zekiel, like a good lad. There's those things in corner
cupboard as bright as chaney can be! and that chaney dog o' yours
sitting as life-like as you please! It wouldn't want much fancy to say
he was wagging his tail and looking at me quite welcoming!"

The wood fire blazed and crackled, the kettle sang on its chain in the
wide chimney. Granny Pyetangle was almost well, and quite happy; and
'Zekiel felt his heart overflowing with gratitude towards the
Fozzy-gog.

"I'll never forget him. Never!" said 'Zekiel to himself, "and I
wouldn't tell upon him not if anyone was to worrit me ever so!"--and
indeed he never did.

Years passed, and Dame Fossie's shop was shut, and Dame Fossie herself
was laid to rest. Her daughter inherited most of her possessions;
but--"to my young friend 'Zekiel Pyetangle, I will and bequeath my
china dog, hoping as he'll be a kind friend to it," stood at the end
of the sheet of paper which did duty as her will. And so 'Zekiel
became the owner of the Fozzy-gog after all!

Granny Pyetangle has long since passed away, but the little thatched
cottage is still there, with the garden full of lavender bushes and
sweet-smelling flowers. From the glass door of the corner cupboard
the Fozzy-gog and his companion look out upon the world with the same
inscrutable expression; and 'Zekiel himself, old and decrepit, but
still cheerful, may at this moment be sitting in the cottage porch,
watching his little grandchildren play about the cobblestone pathway,
or talking over old times with Eli and Hercules Colfox, who, hobbling
in for a chat, take a pull at their long pipes, and bemoan the
inferiority of everything that does not belong to the time when "us
were all lads together."

PRINCESS SIDIGUNDA'S GOLDEN SHOES.

Princess