"Come home, grandpa, come home," he said. "I'm tired."

George Talboys turned at the sound of the babyish voice, and looked long
and earnestly at the boy.

He had his father's brown eyes and dark hair.

"My darling! my darling!" said George, taking the child in his arms, "I
am your father, come across the sea to find you. Will you love me?"

The little fellow pushed him away. "I don't know you," he said. "I love
grandpa and Mrs. Monks at Southampton."

"Georgey has a temper of his own, sir," said the old man. "He has been
spoiled."

They walked slowly back to the cottage, and once more George Talboys
told the history of that desertion which had seemed so cruel. He told,
too, of the twenty thousand pounds banked by him the day before. He had
not the heart to ask any questions about the past, and his father-in-law
only told him that a few months after his departure they had gone from
the place where George left them to live at Southampton, where Helen got
a few pupils for the piano, and where they managed pretty well till her
health failed, and she fell into the decline of which she died. Like
most sad stories it was a very brief one.

"The boy seems fond of you, Mr. Maldon," said George, after a pause.

"Yes, yes," answered the old man, smoothing the child's curling hair;