y he who has the bill, sir!" says George, with a bow, not a little
amused with the candour of the old gentleman.

"Lord, Lord, how mercenary you young men are!" cries the elder, simply.
"Always thinking about money nowadays! Happy he who has the girl, I
should say--the money ain't the question, my dear sir, when it goes
along with such a lovely young thing as that--though I humbly say it,
who oughtn't, and who am her fond silly old grandfather. We were talking
about you, Lyddy darling--come, give me a kiss, my blessing! We were
talking about you, and Mr. George said he wouldn't take you with all the
money your poor old grandfather can give you."

"Nay, sir," says George.

"Well, you are right to say nay, for I didn't say all, that's the truth.
My Blessing will have a deal more than that trifle I spoke of, when it
shall please Heaven to remove me out of this world to a better--when
poor old Gappy is gone, Lyddy will be a rich little Lyddy, that she
will. But she don't wish me to go yet, does she?"

"Oh, you darling dear grandpapa!" says Lyddy.

"This young gentleman won't have you." (Lyddy looks an arch "Thank you,
sir," from her brown eyes.) "But at any rate he is honest, and that
is more than we can say of some folks in this wicked London. Oh, Lord,
Lord, how mercenary they are! Do you know that yonder, in Monument Yard,
they were all at my poor little Blessing for her money? There was
Tom Lutestring; there was Mr. Draper, your precious lawyer; there was
actually Mr. Tubbs, of Bethesda Chapel; and they must all come buzzing
like flies round the honey-pot. That is why we came out of the quarter
where my brother-tradesmen live."

"To avoid the flies,--to be sure!" says Miss Lydia, tossing up her
little head.

"Where my brother-tradesmen live," continues the old gentleman. "Else
who am I to think of consorting with your grandees and fine folk? I
don't care for the fashions, Mr. George; I don't care for plays and
poetry, begging your honour's pardon; I never went to a play in my life,
but to please this little minx."

"Oh, sir, 'twas lovely! and I cried so, didn't I, grandpapa?" says the
child.

"At what, my dear?"

"At--at Mr. Warrington's play, grandpapa."

"Did you, my dear? I dare say; I dare say! It was mail day: and my
letters had come in: and my ship the Lovely Lyddy had just come into
Falmouth; and Captain Joyce reported how he had mercifully escaped a
French privateer; and my head was so full of than