“I don’t know,” said Godfrey; “he would save money to make me rich, and when he died all his wealth would be mine.  Anthony is not so badly off after all, and I think I will try to love him, that he may give me a part of his great fortune by-and-by.”

“Your love, springing from a selfish motive, would not be worth having.  Besides, Godfrey, you will have a fortune of your own.”

“I’m not so clear of that,” said the boy, with a sly glance at his father.  “People say that you will spend all your money on yourself, and leave none for me when you die.”

There was much—­too much truth in this remark; and though Algernon laughed at what he termed his dear boy’s wit, it stung him deeply.  “Where can he have learned that?” he thought; “such an idea could never have entered into the heart of a child.”  Then turning to Mrs. Paisley, who had just entered the room, he said,—­

“Take and wash and clothe that little boy; and when he is nicely dressed, bring him in to speak to his cousin.”

“Come, my little man,” said the old lady, gently shaking the juvenile stranger.  “Come, wake up.  You have slept long enough.  Come this way with me.”

“Whose clothes are you going to put upon him?” demanded Godfrey.

“Why in course, Master Godfrey, you will lend him some of yours?”

“Well, if I do, remember, Paisley, you are not to take my best.”

During this colloquy, Anthony had gradually woke up, and turning from one strange face to another, he lost all his former confidence, and began to cry.  Paisley, who was really interested in the child, kindly wiped away his tears with the corner of her white apron, and gently led the weeper from the room.

While performing for him the long and painful ablutions which his condition required, Mrs. Paisley was astonished at his patience.  “Why, Master Godfrey would have roared and kicked, like a mad thing that he is, if I had taken half the liberty with him,” said the dame to herself.  “Well, well, the little fellow seems to have a good temper of his own.  Now you have got a clean face, my little man, let me look at you, and see what you are like.”

She turned him round and round, took off her spectacles, carefully wiped them, and re-adjusting them upon her nose, looked at the child with as much astonishment as if he had been some rare creature that had never before been exhibited in a Christian land.

“Mercy on me! but the likeness is truly wonderful—­his very image; all but the dark eye; and that he may have got from the mother, as Master Godfrey got his.  I don’t like to form hard thoughts of my master; but this is strange.—­Mr. Glen!” and she rose hastily, and opened a door that led from her own little sanctuary into the servants’ hall—­“please to step in here for a moment.”

“What’s your pleasure, Mistress Paisley?” said the butler, a rosy, portly, good-natured man, of the regular John Bull breed, who, in snow-white trowsers, and blue-striped linen jacket, and a shirt adorned with a large frill (frills were then in fashion), strutted into the room.  “Mistress Paisley, ma’arm, vot are your commands?”