down her baskets carefully, the big one first,
the little one after it, and then, 'Grandfather, dear Grandfather,'
she exclaimed, 'tell me, am I late? Hast thou missed thy little prison
maid?'

The white-haired man, who was writing at a rough oak table, lifted his
head as she entered. His face was worn and haggard; his eyes were
sunken, but the smile that overspread his countenance, as he saw who
had entered, was as bright as little Mary's own. Laying down his pen
and pushing the papers from him, he held out his arms, and in another
minute his granddaughter was clasped in his embrace.

It would be hard to say which of the two was the happier as she placed
the precious windflowers in his thin, blue-veined hand and told him
all she had seen and done. Joan's messages were given; and then, 'But
what hast thou been doing, dear Grandfather?' Mary asked in her turn.
'Hast thou been writing yet another Epistle to Friends to encourage
them to stand firm? I see thy name very clear and bold at the foot:
"William Dewsbury." I love thy name, Grandfather! It reminds me of our
summer flowers and berries at home in Bedfordshire and of the heavy
dews that fall on them. Thy name is as good as a garden, Grandfather,
in itself.'

'It is thou who shouldst be in a garden thyself, my little Mary,'
William Dewsbury answered sorrowfully. 'It is sad to bring thee back
within these gloomy walls, a maid like thee.'

'Nay, Grandfather, it is not sad! Thou promised me that thou wouldst
never say that again! My work was shewn me plainly; that I was to come
and care for thee, and fetch thee thy provisions. It is full early yet
for supper, although the light is fading; canst thou not tell me a
little tale while I sit on thy knee? Afterwards we will eat our meal,
and then thou wilt tell me more stories yet, more and more, to shorten
the dark hours till the stars are shining brightly and it is time to
go to rest.'

'Thou hast heard most of my tales so often, dear Granddaughter, as we
sit here these dark evenings, that thou dost almost know them better
than I myself,' the old man replied.

'Yea, truly, I know them well,' answered Mary. 'Yet I am never weary
of hearing of thy own life long ago. Tell me once more how thou wast
brought off from being a soldier, and established in the path of
peace.'

'Thou must have that tale well nigh by heart already, dear lamb,' the
old man answered. 'Many a time I have told thee of my early days among
the flock