t, for which the tailor had
come previously to measure him. He had sprung up with the sun and put on
the new clothes. Days before Amelia had been making preparations for the
end; purchasing little stores for the boy's use; marking his books and
linen; talking with him and preparing him for the change, fondly fancying
that he needed preparation.

So that he had change, what cared he? He was longing for it. By a
thousand eager declarations as to what he would do when he went to live
with his grandfather, he had shown the poor widow how little the idea of
parting had cast him down. He would come and see his mamma often on the
pony, he said; he would come and fetch her in the carriage; they would
drive in the Park, and she would have everything she wanted.

George stood by his mother, watching her final arrangements without the
least concern, then said a gay farewell, went away smiling, and the widow
was quite alone.

The boy came to see her often, after that, to be sure. He rode on a pony
with the coachman behind him, to the delight of his old grandfather,
Sedley, who walked proudly down the lane by his side. Amelia saw him, but
he was not her boy any more. Why, he rode to see the boys at the little
school, too, and to show off before them his new wealth and splendour. In
two days he had adopted a slightly imperious air and patronising manner,
and once fairly established in his grandfather Osborne's mansion in
Russell Square, won the grandsire's heart by his good looks, gallant
bearing, and gentlemanlike appearance. Mr. Osborne was as proud of him as
ever he had been of the elder George, and the child had many more
luxuries and indulgences than had been awarded to his father. Osborne's
wealth and importance in the city had very much increased of late years.
He had been glad enough to put the elder George in a good private school,
and a commission in the army for his son had been a source of no small
pride to him; but for little George and his future prospects the old man
looked much higher. He would make a gentleman of the little chap, a
collegian, a parliament man--a baronet, perhaps. He would have none but a
tip-top college man to educate him. He would mourn in a solemn manner
that his own education had been neglected, and repeatedly point out the
necessity of classical acquirements.

When they met at dinner the grandfather used to ask the lad what he had
been reading during the day, and was greatly interested at the