ind a tree, and watched the premises. Then a genuine old man and
feeble came and brought Hope his clock to mend. Hope wound it up, and it
went to perfection. The old man had been a stout fellow when Hope was a
boy, but now he was weak, especially in the upper story. Hope saw at
once that the young folk had sent him there for a joke, and he did not
approve it.

"Gaffer," said he, "this will want repairing every eight days; but don't
you come here any more; I'll call on you every week, and repair it for
auld lang syne."

Whilst he toddled away, and Hope retired behind his lathe to study his
model in peace, Monckton raged at the sight of him and his popularity.

"Ay," said he, "you are a genius. You can model a steam-engine or mend a
doll, and you outwitted me, and gave me fourteen years. But you will find
me as ingenious as you at one thing, and that's revenge."

And now a higher class of visitors began to find their way to the general
favorite. The first was a fair young lady of surpassing beauty. She
strolled pensively down the green turf, cast a hasty glance in at the
workshop, and not seeing Hope, concluded he was a little tired after his
journey, and had not yet arrived. She strolled slowly down then, and
seated herself in a large garden chair, stuffed, that Hope had made, and
placed there for Colonel Clifford. That worthy frequented the spot
because he had done so for years, and because it was a sweet turfy slope;
and there was a wonderful beech-tree his father had made him plant when
he was five years old. It had a gigantic silvery stem, and those giant
branches which die crippled in a beech wood but really belong to the
isolated tree, as one Virgil discovered before we were born. Mary Bartley
then lowered her parasol, and settled into the Colonel's chair under the
shade _patulae fagi_--of the wide-spreading beech-tree.

She sat down and sighed. Monckton eyed her from his lurking-place, and
made a shrewd guess who she was, but resolved to know.

Presently Hope caught a glimpse of her, and came forward and leaned out
of the window to enjoy the sight of her. He could do that unobserved, for
he was a long way behind her at a sharp angle.

He was still a widower and this his only child, and lovely as an angel;
and he had seen her grow into ripe loveliness from a sick girl. He had
sinned for her and saved her; he had saved her again from a more terrible
death. He doted on her, and it was always a special joy to hi