t ink was wet, what days and people had passed away! The
writing-book still on the table was blotted with his hand.

Miss Osborne was much affected when she first entered this room. She sank
quite pale on the little bed. "This is blessed news, ma'am--indeed,
ma'am," the housekeeper said; "the good old times is returning! The dear
little feller, to be sure, ma'am; how happy he will be! But some folks in
Mayfair, ma'am, will owe him a grudge!" and she clicked back the bolt
which held the window-sash, and let the air into the chamber.

"You had better send that woman some money," Mr. Osborne said, before he
went out. "She shan't want for nothing. Send her a hundred pound."

"And I'll go and see her to-morrow?" Miss Osborne asked.

"That's your lookout. She don't come in _here_, mind. But she mustn't
want now. So look out, and get things right." With which brief speeches
Mr. Osborne took leave of his daughter, and went on his accustomed way.

That night, when Amelia kissed her father, she put a bill for a hundred
pounds into his hands, adding, "And--and, mamma, don't be harsh with
Georgie. He--he is not going to stop with us long." She could say nothing
more, and walked away silently to her room.

Miss Osborne came the next day, according to the promise contained in her
note, and saw Amelia. The meeting between them was friendly. A look and a
few words from Miss Osborne showed the poor widow that there need be no
fear lest she should take the first place in her son's affection. She
was cold, sensible, not unkind. Miss Osborne, on the other hand, could
not but be touched with the poor mother's situation, and their
arrangements were made together with kindness on both sides.

Georgie was kept from school the next day, and saw his aunt. Days were
passed in talks, visits, preparations. The widow broke the matter to him
with great caution; and was saddened to find him rather elated than
otherwise. He bragged about the news that day to the boys at school; told
them how he was going to live with his grandpapa, his father's father,
not the one who comes here sometimes; and that he would be very rich, and
have a carriage, and a pony, and go to a much finer school, and when he
was rich he would buy Leader's pencil-case, and pay the tart woman.

At last the day came, the carriage drove up, the little humble packets
containing tokens of love and remembrance were ready and disposed in the
hall long since. George was in his new sui