help pitying a child that has no companions and no
liberty. I thought I should like to plunge him for a little while into
the sweet waters of real child-life, and let him learn to shout and
stamp and dig and climb, as my little urchins do."

"But his mother is a poor, faded, fat creature," observed Valentine.
"You'll see she won't let that boy go. You can no more get her to do a
sensible thing than you can dry your face with a wet towel."

"Gently, sir, gently," said his father, not liking this attempt at a
joke on a day which had begun so solemnly.

So Mr. John Mortimer presently departed, taking his handsome young
cousin with him, and the old men, with heavy steps and depressed
countenances, went into the inn and began anxiously to talk over the
various repairs that would be wanted, and all that would have to be done
in the garden and the grounds.

In the meantime it was known in the neighbourhood that parson Craik was
going to preach a funeral sermon for poor old Madam the very next Sunday
morning, and an edifying description of her death passed from mouth to
mouth--how she had called her little great-grandson, Peter, to her as
the child was playing near, probably that she might give him her
blessing--how, when the nurse came running out, she had seen her looking
most earnestly at him, but evidently not able to say a word. Afterwards,
she had a little revived and had risen and beautifully expressed her
gratitude to all about her for their long kindness and attention, and
then, how, piously lifting up her hands and eyes, she had told them that
she was now going to meet with those that she had loved and lost. "O
Lord!" she had exclaimed, "what a meeting that will be!" and thereupon
she had departed without a sigh.

For several days after this Mr. Mortimer and his brother went about the
business left to them to do. They sent for an architect, and put the
house into his hands to be thoroughly repaired. Mrs. Peter Melcombe was
desirous not to leave it, and this they arranged to allow, giving orders
that the apartments which the family had always occupied should remain
untouched till the rest of the house was finished and ready for her.
They also had the garden-door repaired to give her ingress, and the
gallery-gate taken away. These same sons who for so many years had never
come near their mother, seemed now very anxious to attend to her every
wish; scarcely a shrub was cut down in the garden excepting in the
presenc