to the safe refuge of his mother's arms. There was no detail of the
occurrence that faithful heart could not recall. Time had no power to
dull the recollection which love's alchemy kept clear and bright. Was
he not still her boy--her lamb--for all her fourscore years and all the
sorrow they had both known between that day and this? And the old
walls which had rung to the sound of Francis' baby merriment echoed to
his laughter again now. He was in the highest spirits, making a jest
of everything, and scorning the idea of any need for caution.

Robert Gale called him to order at last, and threatened instant return
if he would not be quiet.

"Don't fuss, man," was the gay rejoinder. "Did ever you see so long a
face, Phil? The truth is that his job is over and he knows it. The
prisoner is free, and the jailer in consequence out of employment.
Disguise your feelings, Rob. I am sorry for you, but I don't intend to
be ill again even for your sake. Go and try your pills and potions on
some other unfortunate. I can't see nurse's face because she is behind
me, but I have no doubt she is looking just as glum. You can't think
how funny it feels to get out of those four walls and see something
new. Hullo! What's that?"

They had paused for a moment at the head of the staircase, and his
attention had been attracted by a small drawing hanging rather low down
on the wall, close at hand. He stepped nearer to examine it.

It was a clever sketch in water-colour by a modern artist, and the
draughtsmanship was superb. The subject was an old man with a long
straggling beard and wearing tattered clothes, surrounded by a group of
villagers and children. The creator had allowed his fancy full play,
and the result, without being in any way a caricature, was full of a
most merry and whimsical humour; and yet, by some stroke of his genius
he had made the scene infinitely pathetic, and the central figure
tragic and dignified for all his ragged attire. On the gold frame were
printed the words "Rip van Winkle."

"Rip van Winkle," repeated Francis. "Who was he? Oh, don't tell me; I
think I remember. Wasn't he the old Johnny who slept for a hundred
years and woke up to find every one was dead and nobody knew him? He
looks rather sad, poor old boy. The chap who did that knew how to
draw, anyway."

He moved on to the next picture. "Oh, now we come to a gentleman in
armour. Jolly uncomfortable that tin hat must have been."