“Why! how long have you called him grandfather?” asked the soldier again.

“Ever since our little Dolly died,” said Tony, in a faltering voice.

“Dolly dead!” exclaimed the man, looking ready to fall down; for his face went very white, and he leaned upon the counter with his one hand.  “Oh! my poor Susan!—­my poor, dear girl!—­however can I tell her this bad news?”

“Who are you?” cried Tony.  “Are you Dolly’s father?  Oh, she’s dead!  She died last January, and we are more lonesome without her than you can think.”

“Let me see poor Susan’s father,” he said, after a minute or two, and with a very troubled face.

“Ay, come in,” said Tony, lifting up the flap of the counter, under which Dolly had so often played at hide-and-seek.  “He’s more hisself again; but his memory’s bad yet.  I know everythink about her, though; because she was so fond of me, and me of her.  Come in.”

Raleigh entered the room, and saw old Oliver sitting in his arm-chair, with a pipe in his hand, and a very tranquil look upon his wrinkled face.  The gas-light shone upon the glittering epaulettes and white sash of the soldier, and the old man fastened upon him a very keen, yet doubtful gaze of inquiry.

“Don’t you know me, father?” cried Raleigh, almost unable to utter a word.  “It’s your poor Susan’s husband, and Dolly’s father.”

“Dolly’s father!” repeated old Oliver, rising from his chair, and resting his hand upon Raleigh’s shoulder.  “Do you know that the dear Lord has taken her to be where he is in glory?”

“Yes, I know it,” he said, with a sob.

He put the old man back in his seat, and drew a chair close up to him.  They sat thus together in sorrowful silence for some minutes, until old Oliver laid his hand upon the empty sleeve on Raleigh’s breast.

“You’ve lost your arm,” he said, pityingly.

“Ay!” answered Raleigh; “our colonel was set upon by a tiger in the jungle, and I saved him; but the brute tore my arm, and craunched the bone between his teeth till it had to come off.  It’s spoiled me for a soldier.”

“Yes, yes, poor fellow,” answered old Oliver, “but the Lord knew all about it.”

“That he did,” answered Raleigh; “and he’s taught me a bit more about himself than I used to know.  I’m not spoiled to be His soldier.  But I don’t know much about the service yet, and I shall want you to teach me, father.  You’ll let me call you father, for poor Susan’s sake, won’t you?”

“To be sure—­to be sure,” said old Oliver, keeping his hand still upon the empty sleeve on Raleigh’s breast.

“Well, father,” he continued, “as I am not fit for a soldier, and as the colonel was hurt too, we’re all come home together.  Only Susan’s gone straight on with her lady and our little girl, and sent me through London to see after you and Dolly.”

“Your little girl?” said Oliver questioningly.

“Yes, the one born in India.  Her name’s Mary, but we call her Polly.  Susan said it made her think of our little Dolly at home.  Dear! dear!  I don’t know however I shall let her know.”