And the dear old lady shook hands with me and left me rather hurriedly, turning at the door, however, to add—­

“Mind, I’ve set my heart upon having the boy, Mr Walton.  I’ve seen him often.”

What could have made Miss Crowther take such a fancy to the boy?  I could not help associating it with what I had heard of her youthful disappointment, but never having had my conjectures confirmed, I will say no more about them.  Of course I talked the matter over with Thomas Weir; but, as I had suspected, I found that he was now as unwilling to part with the boy as he had formerly disliked the sight of him.  Nor did I press the matter at all, having a belief that the circumstances of one’s natal position are not to be rudely handled or thoughtlessly altered, besides that I thought Thomas and his daughter ought to have all the comfort and good that were to be got from the presence of the boy whose advent had occasioned them so much trouble and sorrow, yea, and sin too.  But I did not give a positive and final refusal to Miss Crowther.  I only said “for the present;” for I did not feel at liberty to go further.  I thought that such changes might take place as would render the trial of such a new relationship desirable; as, indeed, it turned out in the end, though I cannot tell the story now, but must keep it for a possible future.

I have, I think, entirely as yet, followed, in these memoirs, the plan of relating either those things only at which I was present, or, if other things, only in the same mode in which I heard them.  I will now depart from this plan—­for once.  Years passed before some of the following facts were reported to me, but it is only here that they could be interesting to my readers.

At the very time Miss Crowther was with me, as nearly as I can guess, Old Rogers turned into Thomas Weir’s workshop.  The usual, on the present occasion somewhat melancholy, greetings having passed between them, Old Rogers said—­

“Don’t you think, Mr Weir, there’s summat the matter wi’ parson?”

“Overworked,” returned Weir.  “He’s lost two, ye see, and had to see them both safe over, as I may say, within the same day.  He’s got a bad cold, I’m sorry to hear, besides.  Have ye heard of him to-day?”

“Yes, yes; he’s badly, and in bed.  But that’s not what I mean.  There’s summat on his mind,” said Old Rogers.

“Well, I don’t think it’s for you or me to meddle with parson’s mind,” returned Weir.

“I’m not so sure o’ that,” persisted Rogers.  “But if I had thought, Mr Weir, as how you would be ready to take me up short for mentionin’ of the thing, I wouldn’t ha’ opened my mouth to you about parson—­leastways, in that way, I mean.”

“But what way do you mean, Old Rogers?”

“Why, about his in’ards, you know.”

“I’m no nearer your meanin’ yet.”

“Well, Mr Weir, you and me’s two old fellows, now—­leastways I’m a deal older than you.  But that doesn’t signify to what I want to say.”