“What master?” asked old Oliver.

“Him—­Lord Jesus Christ.  What’ll he say to her leaving you and the little ’un again?” said Tony, with an eager face.

“Oh! he says a woman ought to leave her father, and keep to her husband,” he answered, somewhat sadly.  “It’s all right, that is.”

“I s’pose he’ll help you to take care of the little girl,” said Tony.

“Ay will he; him and me,” replied old Oliver; “there’s no fear of that.  You never read the Testament, of course, my boy?”

“Can’t read, I told you,” he answered.  “But what’s that?”

“A book all about him, the Lord Jesus,” said Oliver, “what he’s done, and what he’s willing to do for people.  If you’ll come of an evening, I’ll read it aloud to you and my little love.  She’ll listen as quiet and good as any angel.”

“I’ll come to-morrow,” answered Tony, readily; and he lingered about the doorway until he heard the old man inside fasten the bolts and locks, and saw the light go out in the pane of glass over the door.  Then he scampered noiselessly with his naked feet along the alley in the direction of Covent Garden, where he purposed to spend the night, if left undisturbed.

Old Oliver went back into his room, where the tea-table was still set out for his Susan’s welcome; but he had no heart to clear the things away.  A chill came over his spirit as his eye fell upon the preparations he had made to give her such a cordial greeting, that she would know at once he had forgiven her fully.  He lit his pipe, and sat pondering sorrowfully over all the changes that had happened to him since those old, far-away days when he was a boy, in the pleasant, fresh, healthy homestead at the foot of the Wrekin.  He felt all of a sudden how very old he was; a poor, infirm, hoary old man.  His sight was growing dim even, and his hearing duller every day; he was sure of it.  His limbs ached oftener, and he was earlier wearied in the evening; yet he could not sleep soundly at nights, as he had been used to do.  But, worst of all, his memory was not half as good as it had been.  Sometimes, of late, he had caught himself reading a newspaper quite a fortnight old, and he had not found it out till he happened to see the date at the top.  He could not recollect the names of people as he did once; for many of his customers to whom he supplied the monthly magazines were obliged to tell him their names and the book they wanted every time, before he could remember them.  And now there was this young child cast upon him to be thought of, and cared and worked for.  It was very thoughtless and reckless of Susan!  Suppose he should forget or neglect any of her tender wants!  Suppose his dull ear should grow too deaf to catch the pretty words she said when she asked for something!  Suppose he should not see when the tears were rolling down her cheeks, and nobody would comfort her!  It might very easily be so.  He was not the hale man he was when Susan was just such another little darling, and he could toss her up to the ceiling in his strong hands.  It was as much as he could do to lift Dolly on to his feeble knee, and nurse her quietly, not even giving her a ride to market upon it; and how stiff he felt if she sat there long!