t.'"

"Well, he couldn't say no fairer than that," commented Mrs. Cross
admiringly. "Yes," she added, drawing a long breath, "'tis just what
you do say, Mrs. Domeny--it be a reg'lar romance."

GILES IN LUCK

Giles Maine sat in the middle of the ward, his hands crossed on his
new umbrella, while his fellow-inmates gathered together in knots and
stared at him, some curiously, some enviously, some a little
regretfully, though all were ready to wish him God-speed when the
moment of parting came.

By a strange turn of Fortune's wheel, Giles Maine, the oldest inmate
of Branston Union, who had in truth for twenty years known no other
home, now found himself, at the age of seventy-eight, a comparatively
wealthy man. A distant relative, a relative so distant indeed that
Giles had been unaware of his existence, had recently died intestate,
and Giles proved to be his next-of-kin.

It had taken him some time to grasp the situation, and to understand
that he was now free to live where he would, in a position of comfort,
not to say affluence. Everybody had taken him in hand, however; the
master had ordered a brand-new suit of clothes for him; the matron had
engaged rooms in the village, and had put him under the charge of his
future landlady, who was a motherly sort of woman, and could be
trusted to look after him; the clergyman had given him much kind
advice, and many friendly warnings; and at length the old man found
himself ready to depart. He was now, in fact, only waiting to say
good-bye to the matron before turning his back for ever on the bare
room where he had spent so many monotonous hours.

The prospect ought surely to have elated him, yet his face wore a very
blank expression as he sat awaiting the expected summons; his new
clothes felt strange and stiff, the high collar of his fine white
shirt hurt his neck, his shiny new boots pinched his feet, the knobby
handle of his massive umbrella was not so comfortable to grasp as the
familiar crook of his battered old stick.

"First turn at the end of the lane, then third house on the right, and
ax for Mrs. Tapper," he repeated to himself from time to time. "First
turn, and third house--'e-es I can mind it right enough--third house
and ax for Mrs. Tapper."

"'Tis a pity," said some one for the fortieth time that day, "'tis a
pity, Mr. Maine, as you ain't got no folks o' your own. Ah, 'tis a
pity, sure. 'Twould ha' been more cheerful like if you'd ha' been
going