his stout little legs could spin, along the footpath leading over the
common in the direction of the workshops. When about halfway across, he
would be certain to meet his father, who, taking the child up in his
bare, brawny, smoke-begrimed arms, would carry him home--the contrast
between the two strongly suggesting Vulcan and Cupid. At six o'clock in
the evening, when the bell announced that work was over for the day, a
similar little drama was enacted. It would be difficult to say whether
Vulcan or Cupid derived the greater amount of pleasure from these
semi-daily incidents. After tea, the two were never separate for a
moment. While the mother was perhaps busily engaged in the perusal of
some worthless novel, the father would sit with his darling on his
knee, listening to his childish prattle, and perhaps so far going out
of himself as to tell the child a little story. It seemed to be an
understood thing that the mother should take no care or notice of the
boy during her husband's presence in the house. Regularly, when the
clock on the chimney-piece struck eight, Charlie would jump down from
his father's knee and run across the room for his night-dress,
returning to his father to have it put on. When this had been done he
would kneel down and repeat a simple little prayer, in which One who
loved little children like Charlie was invoked to bless father and
mother and make him a good boy; after which his father would place him
in his little crib, where he soon slept the sleep of happy childhood.

My own house was not far from theirs, and I was so fond of Charlie that
it was no uncommon thing for me to drop in upon them for a few minutes,
when returning from my office in the evening. Upon one occasion I
noticed the child more particularly than usual while he was in the act
of saying his prayers. His eyes were closed, his plump little hands
were clasped, and his cherubic little face was turned upwards with an
expression of infantile trustfulness and adoration which I shall never