f the
color of rust-eaten bronze. He was more than a hundred years old,--the
father of the old woman, the grandfather of the middle-aged man, and the
great-grandfather of William, Joseph, and the girls. He was muffled in
rags, and wore a little cap on his head. This he removed with his left
hand, exposing a little battered tea-kettle of a bald pate, as with
smiling politeness he reached out the other trembling hand to shake that
of the stranger.

"Welcome, Sah! Sarvant, Sah!"

He bowed and smiled again, and the hospitable duty was performed; after
which he put on his cap and shuffled back into his corner, greatly
marvelled at by the gazing beggar-boy.

The girls and their mother now bestirred themselves to get their guest
something to eat. The tin tea-pot was set on the stove, and hash was
warmed up in the spider. In the mean time William somewhat ruefully took
off his wet Sunday coat, and hung it to dry by the stove, interpolating
affectionate regrets for the soiled garment with the narration of his
adventure.

"It was the merest chance my coming that way," he explained; "for I had
got started up the other street, when something says to me, 'Go by
Gingerford's! go by Judge Gingerford's!' so I altered my course, and the
result was, just as I got against the Judge's gate I was precipitated
over this here person."

"I know what made ye!" spoke up the boy, with an earnest stare.

"What, Sir,--if you please?"

"The angels!"

"The--the what, Sir?"

"The angels! I seen 'em!" says Fessenden's.

This astounding announcement was followed by a strange hush. Bill forgot
to smooth out the creases of his coat, and looked suspiciously at the
youth whom it had served as a saddle. He wondered if he had really been
ridden by the Devil.

The old woman now interfered. She was at least seventy years of age. The
hair of her head was like mixed carded wool. Her coarse, cleanly gown
was composed of many-colored, curious patches. The atmosphere of
thorough grandmotherly goodness surrounded her. In the twilight sky of
her dusky face twinkled shrewdness and good-humor; and her voice was
full of authority and kindness.

"Stan' back here now, you troubles!" pushing the children aside.
"Didn't none on ye never see nobody afore? This 'ere chile has got to be
took keer on, and that mighty soon! Gi' me the comf'table off'm the bed,
mammy."

"Mammy" was the mother of the children. The "comf'table" was brought,
and she and her husband