locks, and such like things, which garnished the walls and hung in
clusters from the ceiling.

After a long and patient contemplation of the golden key, and many such
backward glances, Gabriel stepped into the road, and stole a look at the
upper windows. One of them chanced to be thrown open at the moment,
and a roguish face met his; a face lighted up by the loveliest pair of
sparkling eyes that ever locksmith looked upon; the face of a pretty,
laughing, girl; dimpled and fresh, and healthful--the very impersonation
of good-humour and blooming beauty.

'Hush!' she whispered, bending forward and pointing archly to the window
underneath. 'Mother is still asleep.'

'Still, my dear,' returned the locksmith in the same tone. 'You talk as
if she had been asleep all night, instead of little more than half an
hour. But I'm very thankful. Sleep's a blessing--no doubt about it.' The
last few words he muttered to himself.

'How cruel of you to keep us up so late this morning, and never tell us
where you were, or send us word!' said the girl.

'Ah Dolly, Dolly!' returned the locksmith, shaking his head, and
smiling, 'how cruel of you to run upstairs to bed! Come down to
breakfast, madcap, and come down lightly, or you'll wake your mother.
She must be tired, I am sure--I am.'

Keeping these latter words to himself, and returning his daughter's nod,
he was passing into the workshop, with the smile she had awakened still
beaming on his face, when he just caught sight of his 'prentice's brown