firelight falling on his face. The old man started and muttered low,
"Alan, my little lad!" Then gave an impatient pshaw! and turned again
to Ellen.

"The river ran right through the fields, and my brother used to bathe in
it, and fish--ay, many's the hour we've spent on its banks with a rod
and basket--many's the dish we've brought back in pride to our mother."

Suddenly Maurice got up and came to his side. "Did you ever see a boy
drowned?"

Mr. Smith looked at the child in silent amazement for a moment, but
Maurice repeated his question.

"Did you?"

"Yes," answered the old man in a tremulous voice, while his hands shook
as he clasped them together.

"Uncle Val was drowned," Maurice went on, "quite drowned in the
water--father said so--he was drowned deep down under the willow-trees."

"Hush, Maury dear; it was very dreadful: father used to sigh when he
spoke of Uncle Val, and Maurice is always thinking about him; please,
forgive him, sir."

Mr. Smith did not answer, and at this moment the mother came in.

The children received her with delight, telling her, immediately upon
her entrance, that Mr. Smith came from the country, and could tell
beautiful stories. Mrs. Shipton thanked him gratefully for being so kind
to her little ones, and began to feel more comfortable about the
expediency of having admitted him into their family circle.

It was soon time for the children to go to bed; but before he left the
room, little Maurice knelt down beside his mother and said his evening
prayer. Mr. Smith watched the child with curious attention as he prayed,
and once or twice with a sudden abruptness he cleared his throat and
crossed and uncrossed his legs.

Maurice never raised his head, but went on with the simple words, "Bless
dear mother, and Nellie, and Janet; and take care of Alan out on the sea
this night, and bring him safe home; and bless grandfather, and take
care of him now that he is an old man. For Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."

Why did the lodger start? Why did he so hastily dash his hand across his
eyes, then stand up and go to his own room? When there, why did the old
man let the bitter scalding tears run down his cheeks? why did those
broken, mournful words come from his lips,--

"Alan! Alan! my son; would God I had died for thee, Alan, my son!" He
paused, then went on more sorrowfully:--"Why, why did you leave me, if
you loved me? Oh, my boy! why did you break my heart, Alan?--Dead! dead!
and I am