ciples meet,
and speeches are made. In the chapel sit some three-score old gentlemen
pensioners of the hospital, listening to the prayers and the psalms.

The service for Founder's Day is a special one, and we hear--

The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and he delighteth in
his way.
Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down, for the Lord
upholdeth him with his hand.
I have been young, and now am old, yet have I not seen the
righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread.

As we came to this verse in the psalms I chanced to look up from my book
towards the black-coated pensioners, and amongst them--amongst them--sat
Thomas Newcome.

There was no mistaking him. He wore the black gown of the pensioners of
the Hospital of Grey Friars. The steps of this good man had been ordered
hither by heaven's decree to this alms-house!

The organ played us out of chapel, and I waited until the pensioners
took their turn to quit it. The wan face of my dear old friend flushed
up when he saw me, and his hand shook in mine, "I have found a home,
Arthur," said he. "My good friend Lord H., who is a Cistercian like
ourselves, and has just been appointed a governor, gave me his first
nomination. Don't be agitated, Arthur, my boy; I am very happy. I have
good quarters, good food, good light and fire, and good friends. Why,
sir, I am as happy as the day is long."

We walked through the courts of the building towards his room, which in
truth I found neat and comfortable, with a brisk fire on the hearth, a
little tea-table laid out, and over the mantelpiece a drawing of his
grandson by Clive.

"You may come and see me here, sir, whenever you like--but you must not
stay now. You must go back to your dinner."

Of course I came to him on the very next day, and I had the happiness of
bringing Clive and his little boy to Thomas Newcome that evening. Clive
thought his father was in Scotland with Lord H.

It was at Xmas that Miss Ethel found an old unposted letter of her
grandmother's, Mrs. Newcome, asking her lawyer to add a codicil to her
will leaving a legacy of L6000 to Clive. The letter, of course, had no
legal value, but Ethel was a rich woman, and insisted that the money
should be sent, as from the family.

The old Colonel seemed hardly to comprehend it, and when Clive told him
the story of the legacy, and said they could now pay Mrs. Mackenzie,
"Quite right, quite right; of course we