hics#: here, writing not easily read.

He looked up through his spectacles, as Tom seized his hand and wrung
it.

"Ah! you heard all about it, sir, I see," said he.

Tom nodded, and then sat down on the shoe-board, while the old man
told his tale, and wiped his spectacles, and fairly flowed over with
quaint, homely, honest sorrow.

By the time he had done, Tom felt much better.

"Where is he buried, Thomas?" said he at last.

"Under the altar in the chapel,[15] sir," answered Thomas. "You'd like
to have the key, I dare say."

[15] #Chapel#: the late Matthew Arnold wrote the following
lines on his father's tomb in the chapel:--

"O strong soul, by what shore
Tarriest thou now? For that force,
Surely, has not been left vain!
Somewhere, surely, afar,
In the sounding labor-house vast
Of being, is practised that strength,
Zealous, beneficent, firm!

"Yes, in some far-shining sphere,
Conscious or not of the past,
Still thou performest the word
Of the Spirit in whom thou dost live,--
Prompt, unwearied, as here!

"Still thou upraisest with zeal
The humble good from the ground,
Sternly repressest the bad!
Still, like a trumpet, dost rouse
Those who with half-open eyes
Tread the border-land dim
'Twixt vice and virtue; reviv'st,
Succorest!--this was thy work,
'This was thy life upon earth.'

"But thou would'st not _alone_
Be saved, my father! _alone_
Conquer and come to thy goal,
Leaving the rest in the wild.
Therefore to thee it was given
Many to save with thyself;
And at the end of thy days,
O faithful shepherd! to come,
Bringing thy sheep in thy hand."

_Rugby Chapel, November, 1857._--_Matthew Arnold._

"Thank you, Thomas--yes, I should very much." And the old man fumbled
among his bunch, and then got up, as though he would go with him; but
after a few steps stopped short, and said: "Perhaps you'd like to go
by yourself, sir?"

Tom nodded, and the bunch of keys were handed to him with an
injunction to be sure and lock the door after him, and bring them back
before eight o'clock.

He walked quickly through the quadrangle and out into the close. The
longing which had been upon him and driven him thus far, like the
gad-fly[16] in the Greek legends, giving him no rest in mind or body,
seemed all of a