sses in the morning, and he liked nothing
better than snuggling into bed with her. Tucking his little black nose
under her soft chin, he would place a paw on each of her shoulders, and
settle off into a reposeful sleep; whilst Betty would lie perfectly
still, gazing at him with loving eyes, and every now and then giving
him a gentle squeeze and murmuring, 'You're my very own, my darling,
and I love you.'

CHAPTER VIII

God's Patchwork

'Good-morning to you, little maid.'

Betty and Prince had been straying through the lanes, and had suddenly
come upon the old sexton, who was leaning over his cottage gate smoking
a short clay pipe.

Betty's face dimpled with smiles.

'May I come in and see your little house?' she asked. 'Prince and I
want something to do. Douglas and Molly are lying in a hammock, and
making up stories; and the twins are no company.'

'Come in, come in, my dear, and welcome, but 'tis a lonesome kind o'
home with only me in it; 'twas very different once on a time.'

He led the way up a narrow path through rows of cabbages and sweet
peas, and ushered her into a tiny kitchen, clean, but rather untidy.
Betty looked round with a child's admiring eyes. There were great
shells on the mantelpiece, a stuffed owl on a sideboard, and lots of
other quaint curiosities on some shelves in a recess.

Then she climbed into a big rocking-chair.

'This is lovely,' she said; 'it's almost as good as a rocking-horse, if
you go very fast.'

The old man stood looking at her for a minute; then seated himself on
the low window-seat, and went on smoking. When Betty had swung herself
violently to and fro for some minutes, she asked,--

'Have you been busy digging graves to-day?'

'No; 'tis a fortnight since I had one: the season has bin rare and
healthy.'

'Then what have you been doing?' demanded the child.

'Oh, I don't let the time slip by; there are a many things I turn my
hand to. I digs my taters up, and gardens a bit first thing in the
morning, and I cleans up in my churchyard, and then I cooks a bit o'
dinner, and has a bit o' gossip with my neighbours. I'm a sociable
sort o' chap, though I'm so lonesome. And I has a bit o' reading on
occasions. Are you a-thinkin' any more o' that 'ere tex' that we was
a-argufying on t'other arter-noon?'

Betty nodded.

'I'm always thinking of it,' she said, stopping the motion of the
chair, and looking up at him with grave, earnest eyes.

'Ah, well, s