seems right for the minute it is sufficient.'

Harry's explanation seemed quite satisfactory to his mother, and what
was just then of more importance, to Effie, who, it was but natural,
should find some fault with a definition which seemed to throw anything
like discredit on her new favourite. Any further allusion to the subject
was, however, prevented by the entrance of Mr Maurice, who, as he had
been out all day, making charitable and professional instead of
fashionable calls, had some very interesting stories to relate. But
there was one so strange, and to the children so new, that it threw the
rest quite into the shade, and absorbed their whole stock of sympathy.
It was late before Mr Maurice finished his story, and as it may be late
before our readers get to a better stopping-place, we shall reserve it
fer another chapter.




CHAPTER IV.

THE MISER.


'In passing through a narrow back lane,' said Mr Maurice, after relating
several tales of minor importance, 'I paused to look upon a low
building, so old that one corner of it was sunken so much as to give it
a tottering appearance, and if possible it was more dark and dismal than
the others. It seemed to be occupied by several families, for a little
gray smoke went straggling up from two or three crumbling chimneys, but
the rooms were all on the ground floor. As I stood gazing at it, I was