he child sat silently
together.

In a small dull yard below his window, there was a tree--green and
flourishing enough, for such a place--and as the air stirred among its
leaves, it threw a rippling shadow on the white wall. The old man sat
watching the shadows as they trembled in this patch of light, until the
sun went down; and when it was night, and the moon was slowly rising,
he still sat in the same spot.

To one who had been tossing on a restless bed so long, even these few
green leaves and this tranquil light, although it languished among
chimneys and house-tops, were pleasant things. They suggested quiet
places afar off, and rest, and peace. The child thought, more than
once that he was moved: and had forborne to speak. But now he shed
tears--tears that it lightened her aching heart to see--and making as
though he would fall upon his knees, besought her to forgive him.

'Forgive you--what?' said Nell, interposing to prevent his purpose.
'Oh grandfather, what should I forgive?'

'All that is past, all that has come upon thee, Nell, all that was done
in that uneasy dream,' returned the old man.

'Do not talk so,' said the child. 'Pray do not. Let us speak of
something else.'

'Yes, yes, we will,' he rejoined. 'And it shall be of what we talked
of long ago--many months--months is it, or weeks, or days? which is it
Nell?'

'I do not understand you,' said the child.

'It has come back upon me to-day, it has all come back since we have
been sitting here. I bless thee for it, Nell!'

'For what, dear grandfather?'

'For what you said when we were first made beggars, Nell. Let us speak
softly. Hush! for if they knew our purpose down stairs, they would
cry that I was mad and take thee from me. We will not stop here
another day. We will go far away from here.'

'Yes, let us go,' said the child earnestly. 'Let us begone from this
place, and never turn back or think of it again. Let us wander
barefoot through the world, rather than linger here.'

'We will,' answered the old man, 'we will travel afoot through the
fields and woods, and by the side of rivers, and trust ourselves to God
in the places where He dwells. It is far better to lie down at night
beneath an open sky like that yonder--see how bright it is--than to
rest in close rooms which are always full of care and weary dreams.
Thou and I together, Nell, may be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to
forget this time, as if it had never be