His brother George was now very kind, and spent so much time in the darkened chamber, that Edward often insisted upon his going out to play.  George told him all about the affairs at school, and related many amusing incidents that happened among his comrades, and informed him what sports were now in fashion, and whose kite soared the highest, and whose little ship sailed fleetest on the Frog Pond.  As for Emily, she repeated stories which she had learned from a new book, called the flower people, in which the snow-drops, the violets, the columbines, the roses, and all that lovely tribe, are represented as telling their secrets to a little girl.  The flowers talked sweetly, as flowers should; and Edward almost fancied that he could behold their bloom and smell their fragrant breath.

Thus, in one way or another, the dark days of Edward’s confinement passed not unhappily.  In due time, his father returned; and the next evening, when the family were assembled, he began a story.

“I must first observe, children,” said he, “that some writers deny the truth of the incident which I am about to relate to you.  There certainly is but little evidence in favor of it.  Other respectable writers, however, tell it for a fact; and, at all events, it is an interesting story, and has an excellent moral.”

So Mr. Temple proceeded to talk about the early days of

OLIVER CROMWELL

BORN 1599.  DIED 1658.

Not long after King James the First took the place of Queen Elizabeth on the throne of England, there lived an English knight at a place called Hinchinbrooke.  His name was Sir Oliver Cromwell.  He spent his life, I suppose, pretty much like other English knights and squires in those days, hunting hares and foxes, and drinking large quantities of ale and wine.  The old house in which he dwelt, had been occupied by his ancestors before him, for a good many years.  In it there was a great hall, hung round with coats of arms, and helmets, cuirasses and swords which his forefathers had used in battle, and with horns of deer and tails of foxes, which they or Sir Oliver himself had killed in the chase.

This Sir Oliver Cromwell had a nephew, who had been called Oliver, after himself, but who was generally known in the family by the name of little Noll.  His father was a younger brother of Sir Oliver.  The child was often sent to visit his uncle, who probably found him a troublesome little fellow to take care of.  He was forever in mischief, and always running into some danger or other from which he seemed to escape only by miracle.

Even while he was an infant in the cradle a strange accident had befallen him.  A huge ape which was kept in the family, snatched up little Noll in his forepaws and clambered with him to the roof of the house.  There this ugly beast sat grinning at the affrighted spectators, as if he had done the most praiseworthy thing imaginable.  Fortunately, however, he brought the child safe down again; and the event was afterwards considered an omen that Noll would reach a very elevated station in the world.