gly, and that I was expected to be attentive and punctual, and
then he went away. I thought he didn't seem to like me much.'

'You mean, I suppose,' observed the Instrument-maker, 'that you didn't
seem to like him much?'

'Well, Uncle,' returned the boy, laughing. 'Perhaps so; I never thought
of that.'

Solomon looked a little graver as he finished his dinner, and glanced
from time to time at the boy's bright face. When dinner was done, and
the cloth was cleared away (the entertainment had been brought from a
neighbouring eating-house), he lighted a candle, and went down
below into a little cellar, while his nephew, standing on the mouldy
staircase, dutifully held the light. After a moment's groping here and
there, he presently returned with a very ancient-looking bottle, covered
with dust and dirt.

'Why, Uncle Sol!' said the boy, 'what are you about? that's the
wonderful Madeira!--there's only one more bottle!'

Uncle Sol nodded his head, implying that he knew very well what he was
about; and having drawn the cork in solemn silence, filled two glasses
and set the bottle and a third clean glass on the table.

'You shall drink the other bottle, Wally,' he said, 'when you come to
good fortune; when you are a thriving, respected, happy man; when the
start in life you have made to-day shall have brought you, as I pray
Heaven it may!--to a smooth part of the course you have to run, my
child. My love to you!'

Some of the fog that hung about old Sol seemed to have got into his
throat; for he spoke huskily. His hand shook too, as he clinked his
glass against his nephew's. But having once got the wine to his lips, he
tossed it off like a man, and smacked them afterwards.

'Dear Uncle,' said the boy, affecting to make light of it, while the
tears stood in his eyes, 'for the honour you have done me, et cetera,
et cetera. I shall now beg to propose Mr Solomon Gills with three times
three and one cheer more. Hurrah! and you'll return thanks, Uncle, when
we drink the last bottle together; won't you?'

They clinked their glasses again; and Walter, who was hoarding his wine,
took a sip of it, and held the glass up to his eye with as critical an
air as he could possibly assume.

His Uncle sat looking at him for some time in silence. When their eyes
at last met, he began at once to pursue the theme that had occupied his
thoughts, aloud, as if he had been speaking all the time.

'You see, Walter,' he said, 'in truth this bu