ing over one great-grandchild to
fasten itself upon another, and never losing its individuality. Look at
Andy. There's Elkanah Elkins's chin to the life. Andy's chin is probably
older than the Pyramids. Poor little thing," he cried, with sudden
indescribable tenderness, "to lose his mother so early!" And Mr.
Jaffrey's head sunk upon his breast, and his shoulders slanted forward,
as if he were actually bending over the cradle of the child. The whole
gesture and attitude was so natural that it startled me. The pipe
slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor.

"Hush!" whispered Mr. Jaffrey, with a deprecating motion of his hand.
"Andy's asleep!"

He rose softly from the chair, and walking across the room on tiptoe,
drew down the shade at the window through which the moonlight was
streaming. Then he returned to his seat, and remained gazing with
half-closed eyes into the dropping embers.

I refilled my pipe and smoked in profound silence, wondering what would
come next. But nothing came next. Mr. Jaffrey had fallen into so brown a
study that, a quarter of an hour afterwards, when I wished him
good-night and withdrew, I do not think he noticed my departure.

I am not what is called a man of imagination; it is my habit to exclude
most things not capable of mathematical demonstration: but I am not
without a certain psychological insight, and I think I understood Mr.
Jaffrey's case. I could easily understand how a man with an unhealthy,
sensitive nature, overwhelmed by sudden calamity, might take refuge in
some forlorn place like this old tavern, and dream his life away. To
such a man--brooding forever on what might have been, and dwelling
wholly in the realm of his fancies--the actual world might indeed become
as a dream, and nothing seem real but his illusions. I dare say that
thirteen years of Bayley's Four-Corners would have its effect upon me;
though instead of conjuring up golden-haired children of the Madonna, I
should probably see gnomes and kobolds, and goblins engaged in hoisting
false signals and misplacing switches for midnight express trains.

"No doubt," I said to myself that night, as I lay in bed, thinking over
the matter, "this once possible but now impossible child is a great
comfort to the old gentleman,--a greater comfort, perhaps, than a real
son would be. Maybe Andy will vanish with the shades and mists of night,
he's such an unsubstantial infant; but if he doesn't, and Mr. Jaffrey
finds pleasure i