son, who have been in furrin parts
so long, him what hangs up in the hall along with the master. You've
never seed him. He went off straight from school to India. He were a
favourit' of mine were Master Mortimer.'

'And he's coming to-day? Oh, I do hope I shall see him.'

Bobby capered at the thought.

''Tis any time to-day may bring him. His ship comed in yester morn.'

'I wonder if he's seen my father anywheres.'

'Ah! Best ask of him. Master Mortimer be a merry young gen'leman,
sure enough. But I reckon that time have sobered him!'

'Grown-up peoples aren't merry,' said the small boy, ''cept Sam Conway,
when he's drunk!'

Sam Conway was the cobbler, who was the village drunkard. Tom shook
his head reproachfully at the thought of him.

'And that there old soaker did marry my aunt's darter!' He continued a
grumbling discourse upon the evils of drink as he turned to his sowing,
and Bobby danced away down to the bottom of the garden, where he opened
the door into the orchard and found his way to his favourite corner.
This was an old apple-tree which grew close to the high wall that
separated the orchard from the public road. It was an easy tree to
climb, and from a comfortable perch upon the topmost bough he could
look out along the high-road. It was a broad, white, dusty road; on
market-days he was never absent from this seat; he loved watching the
farmers' carts, and the carriers, and the droves of sheep and cattle
that passed along to the town. There were other days when he watched
there, days when only motors whizzed by, or a few carriages and an
occasional cart rumbled along. But he never tired of his post, and his
face was always full of patient expectancy. He got up in the tree now,
and 'Nobbles' was tightly grasped in his hand.

'It may be "Nobbles" that they'll come together. It's a ship he'll
come in same as Master Mortimer, and the ship comed in yesterday--Tom
said so.'

His brown eyes scanned the horizon anxiously, and the hope that had
never died yet in his childish heart leaped up anew. Nobbles was stuck
into a crevice in the wall, and his smiling, ugly little head stared
out in the same direction as his master's.

'It may be a station fly, and it may be our carriage, and it may be a
motor,' pursued Bobby dreamily, 'but he's bound to come, I'm certain
sure!'

He was called into his dinner before a single carriage or cart had
passed him. But his little face was radiantly bri