old loss passed away.

In a month's time he looked healthy, if not absolutely handsome.
The windmiller's wife, indeed, protested that he was lovely, and she
never wearied of marvelling at the unnatural conduct of those who
had found it in their hearts to intrust so sweet a child to the care
of strangers; though it must be confessed that nothing would have
pleased her less than the arrival of two doting and conscientious
parents to reclaim him.

Indeed, pity had much to do with the large measure of love that she
gave to the deserted child. A meaner sentiment, too, was not quite
without its influence in the predominance which he gradually gained
over his foster brothers and sisters. There was little enough to be
proud of in all that could be guessed as to his parentage (the
windmiller knew nothing), but there was scope for any amount of
fancy; and if the child displayed any better manners or talents than
the other children, Mrs. Lake would purse her lips, and say, with a
somewhat shabby pride, -

"Anybody may see 'tis gentry born."

"I've been thinking," said the windmiller, one day, "that if that
there woman weren't the mother, 'tis likely the mother's dead."

"'Tis likely, too," said his wife; and her kindness abounded the
more towards the motherless child. Little Abel was nurse-boy to it,
as he had been to his sister. Not much more than a baby himself, he
would wrap an old shawl round the baby who was quite a baby, stagger
carefully out at the door, and drop dexterously--baby uppermost--on