there been such sweetness in
those deep full tones.

The boy responded with both arms round his neck, and face laid on his
shoulder. Poor child! it was the affection that his little heart had
hungered for ever since he had left his grandmother, and which he had
inspired in no one.

A few more seconds, and he was sitting on the floor, resting against his
father, listening without alarm to his question--'Now, Owen, what were
you saying?'

'I'll never do it again, pa--never!'

'No, never be disobedient, nor fight with girls. But what were you
saying about the Holt?'

'I shall live here--I shall have it for my own.'

'Who told you so?'

'Granma.'

'Grandmamma knows nothing about it.'

'Shan't I, then?'

'Never! Listen, Owen. This is Miss Charlecote's house as long as she
lives--I trust till long after you are a man. It will be Mr. Randolf's
afterwards, and neither you nor I have anything to do with it.'

The two great black eyes looked up in inquiring, disappointed
intelligence. Then he said, in a satisfied tone--

'We ain't beggars--we don't carry rabbit-skins and lucifers!'

'We do nothing so useful or profitable,' sighed poor Owen, striving to
pull himself up by the table, but desisting on finding that it was more
likely to overbalance than to be a support. 'My poor boy, you will have
to work for me!' and he sadly stroked down the light hair.

'Shall I?' said the little fellow. 'May I have some white mice? I'll
bring you all the halfpence, pa!'

'Bring me a footstool, first of all. There--at this rate I shall be able
to hop about on one leg, and be a more taking spectacle,' said Owen, as,
dragging himself up by the force of hand and arm, he resettled himself on
his couch, as much pleased as amazed at his first personal act of
locomotion after seven months, and at the discovery of recovered strength
in the sound limbs. Although, with the reserve of convalescence, he kept
his exploit secret, his spirits visibly rose; and whenever he was left
alone, or only with his little boy, he repeated his experiments,
launching himself from one piece of furniture to another; and in spite of
the continued deadness of the left side, feeling life, vigour, and hope
returning on him.

His morbid shyness of his child had given way to genuine affection, and
Owen soon found that he liked to be left to the society of
Flibbertigibbet, or as he called him for short, Giblets, exacting in
return the title of father,