for these were places that he hoped to shun, nor did he
seem at ease until at last they felt that they were clear of London, and
sat down to rest, and eat their frugal breakfast from little
Nell's basket.

The freshness of the day, the singing of the birds, the beauty of the
waving grass, the wild flowers, and the thousand exquisite scents and
sounds that floated in the air, sunk into their breasts, and made them
very glad. The child had repeated her artless prayers once that morning,
more earnestly, perhaps, than she had ever done in her life; but as she
felt all this, they rose to her lips again. The old man took off his
hat--he had no memory for the words--but he said Amen, and that they
were very good.

"Are you tired?" asked the child. "Are you sure you don't feel ill from
this long walk?"

"I shall never feel ill again, now that we are once away," was his
reply. "Let us be stirring, Nell. We are too near to stop and be at
rest. Come!"

They were now in the open country, through which they walked all day,
and slept that night at a cottage where beds were let to travellers.
Next morning they were afoot again, and still kept on until nearly five
o'clock in the afternoon, when they stopped at a laborer's hut, asking
permission to rest awhile and buy a draught of milk. The request was
granted, and after having some refreshments and rest, Nell yielded to
the old man's fretful demand to travel on again, and they trudged
forward for another mile, thankful for a lift given them by a kindly
driver going their way, for they could scarcely crawl along. To them the
jolting cart was a luxurious carriage, and the ride the most delicious
in the world. Nell had scarcely settled herself in one corner of the
cart when she fell fast asleep, and was only awakened by its stopping
when their ways parted. The driver pointing out the town in the near
distance, directed them to take the path leading through the churchyard.
Accordingly, to this spot they directed their weary steps, and presently
came upon two men who were seated upon the grass. It was not difficult
to divine that they were itinerant showmen--exhibitors of the freaks of
Punch--for, perched cross-legged upon a tombstone behind them, was a
figure of that hero himself, his nose and chin as hooked, and his face
as beaming as usual; while scattered upon the ground, and jumbled
together in a long box, were the other persons of the drama. The hero's
wife and one child, the ho