together upon his grandfather's knee, he stood a moment gazing fixedly
into the sad face, which never relaxed a muscle, though every nerve of
the wretched man was strung to its utmost tension and quivering with
pain. The searching blue eyes of the boy troubled him, for it seemed as
if they pierced to the depths of his soul and saw what was there.

"Da-da," Grey said at last. "Take me, peese; I'se tired."

Oh, how the old man longed to snatch the child to his bosom and cover
his face with the kisses he had so hungered to give him, but in his
morbid state of mind he dared not, lest he should contaminate him, so he
restrained himself with a mighty effort, and replied:

"No, Grey, no; I cannot take you. I am tired, too."

"Is you sick?" was Grey's next question, to which his grandfather
replied:

"No, I am not sick," while he clasped both his hands tightly over his
head out of reach of the baby fingers, which sometimes tried to touch
them.

"Is you sorry, then?" Grey continued, and the grandfather replied:

"Yes, child, very, very sorry."

There was the sound of a sob in the old man's voice, and Grey's blue
eyes opened wider as they looked wistfully at the lips trembling with
emotion.

"Has you been a naughty boy?" he said; and, with a sound like a moan,
Grandpa Jerrold replied:

"Yes, yes, very, very naughty. God grant you may never know how
naughty."

"Then why don't Auntie Hannah sut oo up in 'e bed'oom?" Grey asked, with
the utmost gravity, for, in his mind, naughtiness and being shut up in
his aunt's bedroom, the only punishment ever inflicted upon him, were
closely connected with each other.

Almost any one would have smiled at this remark, but Grandpa Jerrold did
not. On the contrary there came into his eyes a look of horror as he
exclaimed:

"Shut me in the bedroom! That would be dreadful indeed."

Then, springing up, he hurried away into the field and disappeared
behind a ledge of rocks, where, unseen by any eye save that of God, he
wept more bitterly than he had ever done before.

"Why, oh, why," he cried, "must this innocent baby's questions torture
me so? and why can I never take him in my arms or lay my hands upon him
lest they should leave a stain?"

Then holding up before him his hard, toil-worn hands, he tried to recall
what it was he had heard or read of another than himself who tried to
rid his hands of the foul spot and could not.

"Only the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all