ne true friend in the house," said poor Mrs. Gaunt. She
then confided in Ryder, and went away to give her own orders for
Griffith's reception.

Ryder found little Rose, dressed her to perfection, and told her her
dear papa was come home. She then worked upon the child's mind in that
subtle way known to women, so that Rose went down stairs loaded and
primed, though no distinct instructions had been given her.

As for Griffith, he walked up and down, uneasy; and wished he had stayed
at the "Packhorse." He had not bargained for all these emotions; the
peace of mind he had enjoyed for some months seemed trickling away.

"Mercy, my dear," said he to himself, "'t will be a dear penny to me, I
doubt."

Then he went to the window, and looked at the lawn, and sighed. Then he
sat down, and thought of the past.

Whilst he sat thus moody, the door opened very softly, and a little
cherubic face, with blue eyes and golden hair, peeped in. Griffith
started. "Ah!" cried Rose, with a joyful scream; and out flew her little
arms, and away she came, half running, half dancing, and was on his knee
in a moment, with her arms round his neck.

"Papa! papa!" she cried. "O my dear, dear, dear, darling papa!" And she
kissed and patted his cheek again and again.

Her innocent endearments moved him to tears. "My pretty angel!" he
sighed: "my lamb!"

"How your heart beats! Don't cry, dear papa. Nobody is dead: only we
thought you were. I'm so glad you are come home alive. Now we can take
off this nasty black: I hate it."

"What, 't is for me you wear it, pretty one?"

"Ay. Mamma made us. Poor mamma has been so unhappy. And that reminds me:
you are a wicked man, papa. But I love you all one for that. It _tis_ so
dull when everybody is good like mamma; and she makes me dreadfully good
too; but now you are come back, there will be a little, little
wickedness again, it is to be hoped. Aren't you glad you are not dead,
and are come home instead? I am."

"I am glad I have seen thee. Come, take my hand, and let us go look at
the old place."

"Ay. But you must wait till I get on my new hat and feather."

"Nay, nay; art pretty enough bare-headed."

"O papa! but I must, for decency. You are company now; you know."

"Dull company, sweetheart, thou 'lt find me."

"I don't mean that: I mean, when you were here always, you were only
papa; but now you come once in an age, you're COMPANY. I won't budge
without 'em; so there, now."

"Well, litt