entered the room in a perfectly matter-of-fact manner, set the lamp on
the washhand-stand, and approached the bed. As he stood there, looking
on the face, calm, restful, beautiful in its last sleep, a wave of
memory, unbidden and unwelcome, swept over his selfish and hardened
heart. The years rolled back, and he saw two boys kneeling together in
childish love at their mother's knee, lisping their evening prayer,
unconscious of the bitter years to come. Almost the white, still outline
of the dead face seemed to reproach him; he could have anticipated the
sudden lifting of the folded eyelids. He shivered slightly, took an
impatient step back to the table for the lamp, and made haste from the
room.

[Illustration]




CHAPTER III

THE NEW HOME.


Next day at noon that strangely-assorted pair, the sordid old man and
the gentle child, set out in a peasant's waggon, which he had hired for
a few pence, to ride across the meadows to Boston. The morning was very
fair. In the night the mist had flown, and now the sun shone out warm
and cheerful, giving the necessary brightness to the scene. It lay
tenderly on the quaint fen village, and the little gilt vane on the
church steeple glittered proudly, almost as if it were real gold.