"Yes, father, that's my little lad as I've got to keep; that's little Peter, your own little grandson; and he's rare good company a'ready for lonely folks. Many's the time he's dried my tears watching 'is pretty ways. 'Old 'im tight, father, for 'e isn't used to you." with its straggling border of sweet- For reply Jane crossed the hearth smelling pinks, wondering that the with her child in her arms, and set him place was so untidy and ill-kept till she on the old man's shrunken knees - -as stood on the threshold of the half-beautiful a boy of twelve months old as opened door. She tapped timidly, and a mother ever doted on. no one replying to her kuock, she looked into the kitchen, and there sat her father dozing in his chair by the chimney corner. She was shocked at the change in his appearance. His features were sharp and worn, his hands like bird's claws, and a ragged growth of white beard and moustache old folks, and p'raps e' mayn't take to covered his once well-shaven face; nor was old 'Lijah as clean as he might No need to tell 'Lijah to hold his have been. His stockings were in little grandson carefully. The touch of holes and his clothes ragged and un- the child's firm yonng flesh, the sight mended. It was plain to be seen that of his golden hair in lamb-like curls, he had lost all interest in himself, and his gentian-blue eyes and moist, innothat there was no woman to look after cent breath nourished his old bones, him Jane entered, and quietly seated and he felt there was vital warmth in herself opposite to her father, and her him yet. And when little Peter put tears fell fast as she took in the mean-up a dimpled hand to grasp his ragged ing of his forlorn and neglected aspect, beard, and made pretty baby jabbering, and whispered to herself, "Oh, mother, and laughed in his troubled old face, mother!" displaying four pearly-white teeth like grains of rice, the frost in the grandfather's heart, that had bound it since his wife died, melted, and he said : When 'Lijah opened his eyes, there sat his daughter on the other side of the hearth, nursing a child on her lap. At first he did not know who it was, and looked vaguely puzzled until he heard her voice. "It's me, father; it's Jane come to live with you and make you comfortable." He did not seem startled, and received the announcement with the most matter-of-fact calm. "Whatever brings you back i' these parts? It's trouble, I doubt," and the old man shook a boding head. Ay, father, trouble enough it is My man's dead, and I 'aven't a penny in the world and no home but what you'll give me and this little lad to keep," and the child, now wide awake, sat up on her lap and looked about him. "What's that you say about a little lad? You've got a little lad to keep?" and there was a strange stir in the old man's heart as he uttered the words, for he had never had a son of his own, and it had been the great disappointment of his life. "Jane, if you 'aven't got a penny in the world, your man's left you rich enough wi' a little lad like this! You must bide wi' me- both of you." "Ay, father, so we will. But look you how that grey wire beard o' yourn is scratchin' little Peter's face! You'll 'ave to shave it off, and poor mother always thought so much o' your clean chin!" The ragged beard was duly taken off, and the old man began the trouble of shaving again, and renewed his acquaintance with soap and water, for the little lad's sake; and his daughter washed and mended his clothes, and 'Lijah looked once more himself, but old — very old. 'Lijah's whole heart was garnered up in his little grandson, and as the boy grew older it was a pretty sight to see them in the fields together, the child bringing wild flowers to the old man to name, or a bird's egg or nest; but whatever it was he could tell him everything about it, and nothing short of that would content little Peter. For | little Peter's immense intellectual powhe had a healthy child's thirst for every ers. kind of knowledge, so long as it was "It's seventy 'ears too late, my little not what schoolmasters teach or what lad, for grandfather to go running comes out of a book, and he was eager about like a little dog at a fair." after all country lore and old-world word-of-mouth wisdom. It was won-more than me; you'd ought to know derful how much the little lad learned from his grandfather about four-footed creatures, from oxen to stoats and weasels, and he could have passed an examination with honors in the names, songs, and plumage of British birds. The two were inseparable companions, and Peter would rather play with his grandfather, whom he regarded as an overgrown child with bent back and stiff legs, than with any little boy of his own age. “But, grandfather, you know a deal how to run ever so fast, and climb the bank and gather blackberries same as me." Ay, so I did when I was your age, but blackberries was bigger then than what they are now. They was worth climbing for seventy 'ears ago, I can tell you! But I'm an old man now, Peter," and 'Lijah looked down on the child's upturned face that was fresh and clear as a flower. Little Peter walked on a few paces in thoughtful silence. "But, grandfather, what makes you such an old, old man ?” And 'Lijah laughed with delight at the question. Oh, Peter was a rare, deep little chap, he'd get to the bottom of everything if he could. Jane Grove would stand on the doorstep and smile as she watched her father and his little grandson set out for a walk hand in hand, perfectly happy and content together. "They're more like a pair o' lovers, them two, than anything else! Father's like "It's nothing but Anna Dominoes as wrapped up in that lad, and don't think makes me such a' old, old man, and o' me exceptin' to eat the vittles I that's Latin for the 'ear of the Lord. cook and set afore 'im; nor little Peter, 'e don't think o' me neither so long as 'e can 'ave 'is grandad! They're both of 'em civil to me, and that's about all they are, they're so took up with each other." When little Peter had stuck to his grandfather like his shadow for five years, he began to be aware that his beloved companion could not see very far, and was shaky on his legs, got tired before they were half across the common, had a habit of falling asleep in the midst of the most interesting conversation about rooks and water rats, and was growing deaf, so that he had to speak loud to make him hear. These things grieved little Peter, and as he could not see the necessity for them he asked his grandfather what he did them for. "Grandad," he said, as he walked slowly by his side, having hold of his hand, “grandad, why don't you run as quick as me?" The old man smiled delightedly at a question that seemed to him to display It's Anna Dominoes, that's the matter wi' me, little Peter, and nothin' else," and the child stored up the mysterious words in his tenacious memory. Not long afterwards Old 'Lijah, who had grown neighborly again now that he was happy, went one evening, accompanied by his grandson, to spend an hour with his old friend, Farmer Blewitt. The two old men were seated in armchairs at each side of the table, with a tobacco jar and cider mugs, and a small narrow box before them. Little Peter was lying on the hearth playing with a young spaniel puppy, in whose delightful society he was wholly absorbed, till he heard Farmer Blewitt say: "Let's have a game o' dominoes, 'Lijah; it's many a day since you and me played together.” Little Peter sat up. "I don't mind if I do play a game,' said his grandfather. Little Peter rose to his feet, pushed the frivolous and seductive puppy aside as being likely to interfere with serious business, and modestly, but firmly, ap- | uoes that does it, do tell me what it is proached the table where the old men that makes you such an old, old man ! " were beginning their game. He laid his hand on his grandfather's arm, but he did not feel it at first, so he pressed harder. "Hallo! little chap, what's up?" "Don't touch none o' them dominoes, grandfather! Don't touch 'em," said little Peter urgently. "Whatever's to do with you, Peter ? You're onreasonable!" said 'Lijah, with as near an approach to asperity as was possible towards his little grand son. But Peter was not to be daunted. "Grandfather, don't you remember that day when I asked what made you such an old, old man, you said it was Anna Dominoes as did it all? Don't touch 'em, grandfather, don't touch one of 'em!" and Peter's young face was full of anxiety. Old 'Lijah and Farmer Blewitt laughed till they cried, while 'Lijah told him what he had said to the little chap in the lane about his age; "for he's that peart, I said Anna Dominoes was the matter wi' me, speaking Latin, and Latin or Greek he'll get to the reason o' things! No, little Peter, these ain't the kind o' dominoes that's made an old, old man o' your grandad; it was the 'car of the Lord I was speaking on, and when you go to school you'll learn all about un!" Peter was now an active little slip of seven years of age, never still except when he was sleeping, and not knowing what it was to be tired. He had grown used to his grandfather's increasing infirmities by now, but they irked his restless young body and spirit, and on their walks together, when the old man sat down by the way weary and breathless, little Peter beguiled the time running to and fro as fast as he could, to let off his pent-up energy, after crawling at a snail's pace by Old 'Lijah's side. Old 'Lijah did not laugh at the boy's question now. He felt his life feeble within him, and he did not know what to say in reply that could be intelligible to a child. They were alone in the kitchen, and no sound was heard but the loud ticking of the tall clock, the audible footstep of time. The old man | looked into the child's fresh young face as he stood between his knees waiting for an answer, and he smiled feebly, and pressed the firm, round cheek with his shaking hand, but he said nothing. "But what is it, grandfather, that makes you such an old, very old mau ?” Then 'Lijah looked up at the tall clock whose loud tick tack penetrated his dull hearing, and it seemed to him as though he had heard it for eighty years, counting out aloud the minutes, hours, days, and years of his whole life. "It's the ticking of the clock, my little lad, the ticking of the clock, that makes grandfather such an old, old man ;" and Peter was satisfied with the reply, and set his young brains to work to find out how he could baffle the evil influence of the clock. Now the tall case clock was a very big person for a small boy to tackle. He stood six feet without his shoes, with a huge round face behind a paue of glass, and a long front door opening straight into his vitals, and Peter had peeped in on winding-up days, and seen two heavy weights hanging, and the shining brass pendulum swinging to and fro, whose everlasting tick tack had made an old man of his grandfather. Well, never mind, wait till some time when mother was out of the house, and grandfather asleep in the big armchair, as he was nearly all day long now, and little Peter knew what he would do! Not many days afterwards everything happened as Peter wished, and he looked out of the window to make A few weeks later and little Peter sure that his mother was at a safe disagain returned with a child's persist-tance at the top of the garden, aud ence to the puzzling subject of his there she was, standing with her back grandfather's decaying strength. to the house, busy pegging clothes on "Grandfather, if it isn't the domi- the line, so that no danger need be feared from that quarter. Indoors, | years, and little Peter became big too, all was equally favorable to the Peter, and then he understood what carrying out of little Peter's deep-laid his grandfather had meant. From The Contemporary Review. HAMPSTEAD HEATH. scheme. Grandfather really was older than ever to-day. He had not stirred from the big chair since he came down in the morning, and when he was spoken to he said nothing, he only smiled and fell into a doze. He was I HAD never been to Hampstead fast asleep now, and little Peter's heart Heath, so finding myself the other day beat with joy to think what a fine on 'the Northern Heights," disapsurprise he was preparing for his pointed in an engagement that I had grandfather. What would the old man thought had been made, and with the think when he felt the stiffness and day all before me, I went up on the trembling going out of his legs and hill, and by a charming approach I back, his eyes growing clear and bright came out from under some beautiful again, and his deafness leaving him? | old elms on to a roadway brilliant with all which would be sure to happen if rhododendrons and iris in full bloom, the clock would only stop ticking. and so upon the famous 'Eath. Hardly Grandfather was so fast asleep, with a soul was in sight; the day was his head leaning forward on his breast, perfect, with an unclouded sun and that little Peter was not afraid of wak- scarcely a breath of wind, and I had ing him. He summoned all his courage all the landscape to myself. And what to his aid and stepped cautiously up to a beautiful landscape it is. Standing the great clock, with its menacing tick on the crest of the hill I could look tack, unlocked its front door, opened it away across Middlesex into Hertfordwide, and peeped into the resonant shire, lying tranquil and green under cavern in its inside, with the heavy the sunlight, and over the spires and iron weights hanging and the bright towers of churches, with here and brass pendulum swaying to and fro with its everlasting tick tack, tick tack. Then, without giving himself time to take fright at his own daring, he seized hold of the swinging pendulum and; after a brief struggle, held it in his hand, a silent, motionless thing. Then little Peter loosed his hold, and glanced over his shoulder at the old man, but he was still quietly sleeping. He cautiously closed the door of the tall clock towering above him in silence, and seated himself on a stool at his grandfather's feet, waiting to tell him when he awoke how he had stopped the ticking of the clock that made him such an old, old man. there a housetop showing among the noble groups and groves of trees, and I could not help thinking of the Pilgrims when in their Progress they came to the hill that is called Delectable, and from its summit, overlooked the pleasant valleys. It was on such occasions that the worthy Christiana used to thank the Lord. Close by was a little pond. A single yacht becalmed in the middle and one retriever swimming hopefully about in search of a stick that had never been thrown, had the pond all to themselves, till a butcher's boy, "all in Neptune's azure garb," came with his cart and drove through it, giving the yacht a There his mother found him sitting friendly shove on its voyage with his when she returned from the garden, whip as he passed and the retriever and neither daughter nor grandson a renewal of its dwindling hope by could rouse the old man from the sleep deceitful gestures of stick-throwing. that knows no waking. When the The butcher's horse took its pleasure, pendulum was set swinging once more, a sensible beast, very slowly, and like the clock began to tick again as though Pharaoh's chariots in the fatal sea, the nothing had happened, and it ticked wheels drave heavily. But at last it out the minutes till they grew into reached the "splash," and creeping ner.” And "round the corner "" I found it, the inn of wicked highwayman fame. And as I drank my ale in the low-roofed, sanded room, I complimented myself on my sagacity in being born a little Victorian-era child instead of a wight in Elizabeth's spacious days when roysterers on the public ways, Nyms and Bardolphs and Pistols, called you rogue and fat chuff and cracked your costard for you, emergent out from the deep all glis- | put a penny in his slot, and he could tening wet like some sea-horse cart- not help answering - "Round the cormonster, started refreshed along the highway. And a terrier came to look at the retriever, and barked at it exceedingly. Why do the dogs out of the water always bark so excitedly at the dogs that are in it? Is it that they are rejoicing over the chances of the swimmer being drowned, or are they exhorting him to save himself from a watery grave by coming out on to dry land? Or is it from mere excitement, such as possesses human beings at a faith" and robbed you. No. They horse-race or a fire? This is one of were good old" days those, and Enthe few occasions on which a dog barks gland was merry England" then; unintelligibly. You cannot understand but for myself I had rather at night what the little dog on the bank is saying about the big one in the water. That he means something, and means it very much, is out of all question. Sometimes it sounds like pure joy, for its voice is as that of a dog going out for a walk with its master, but if so, why should the little dog on the bank be joyous? What is there in the spectacle of another dog swimming about and snuffing like a porpoise, to conduce to such immoderate gaiety in the onlooker? At other times the bark is quarrelsome and assertive, as if the dog in the water were doing something that was outrageous and contrary to the peace and law, and ought to be suppressed. And when the swimmer comes out, note the attitude of the other dog. He approaches the wet one stiffly as if about to put some serious question to him, but the big dog suddenly shakes himself all over him, and, while the little dog retires sneezing and feeling snubbed, bounds into the water again with a fine, full-chested, spread-eagle splash about which there is no reserve, and which immediately sends the little bank-dog off into frantic transports again. At the corner, just where a superb horse-chestnut, holding out upright a torch of blossom at the end of every bough like tapers on a Christmas tree, cast a cool shade, stood a residentlooking policeman. He knew apparently what I was going to ask before I spoke, and answered-just as if I had meet ten policemen on Hampstead Heath than one highwayman. Refreshed, I sallied forth to explore the Heath. What a queer feeling it is that comes over one visiting it for the first time, when you see how threadbare and seamy the ground is with people sitting on it and the countless feet that tread it. Once upon a time it must have been sweetly pretty with its little dells and dingles filled with ferns and wild flowers, with the small patches of boggy ground bright with marshplants, its turf all underlaid with moss and patterned with heather. Fine trees, too, once grew upon it no doubt. But what a change popularity has worked. Every foot of the ground seems polished by friction and only the hardiest of the grasses survive. Not even the sweet fresh air seems able to conceal the odor of clothes and boots. The whole place seems to suiff of Bank Holiday. Boys with canes have switched off the heads of everything, so that nothing dares to grow above a few inches off the ground, except the fierce furze and, in the cage-like hollows, the retaliating brambles. There is not a flower to be seen on the ground. Yet beauty has not utterly departed from the Heath, for here grow wondrous crab-trees and clumps of dwarfed but charming birch, and as you go down the steepy hillside you notice that the dimples in the ground still hold bracken, and the whins and broom are, as ever, golden. |