"Health on his cheek, and gladness in his eye."

"Well, dear papa! Have you brought me my cousin?"

"What will you give for him, G.o.dfrey?" and the delighted father bent down to receive the clasp of the white arms, and the kiss of the impatient child.

"That's all I can afford. Perhaps he's not worth having after all;" and the spoilt child turned pettishly away.

Casting his eyes upon old Shock, he exclaimed, "Mercy! what an ugly dog.

A perfect brute!"

"He was once a very handsome dog," said his father, as the groom a.s.sisted him to alight.

"It must be, a long time ago. I hope my cousin is better-looking than his dog."

"Why, what in the world have we got here?" said Mrs. Paisley, the housekeeper, who came to the door to welcome her master home; and into whose capacious arms the footman placed the sleeping Anthony, enveloped in his uncle's cloak.

"A present for you, Mrs. Paisley," said Algernon, "and one that I hope you will regard with peculiar care."

"A child!" screamed the good woman. "Why, la, sir; how did you come by it?"

"Honestly," returned Algernon, laughing.

"Let _me_ look at him," cried the eager G.o.dfrey, as soon as they entered the room where supper was prepared for his father; and pulling the cloak away from his cousin's face,--"Is this dirty shabby boy the playfellow you promised me, papa?"

"The same."

"And he in rags!"

"That's no fault of his, my child."

"And has a torn cap, and no shoes!"

"Mrs. Paisley will soon wash, and dress, and make him quite smart; and then you will be proud of him."

"Well, we shall see," replied the boy, doubtingly. "But I never was fond of playing with dirty ragged children. But why is he dirty and ragged? I thought you told me, papa, that he was the son of my rich, rich uncle, and that he would have twice as much money as I?"

"And so he will."

"Then why is he in this condition?"

"His father is a miser."

"What is that?"

"A man that loves money better than his son; who would rather see him ragged and dirty, nay even dead, than expend upon his comfort a part of his useless riches. Are you not glad that your father is not a miser?"

"I don't know," said G.o.dfrey; "he would save money to make me rich, and when he died all his wealth would be mine. Anthony is not so badly off after all, and I think I will try to love him, that he may give me a part of his great fortune by-and-by."

"Your love, springing from a selfish motive, would not be worth having.

Besides, G.o.dfrey, you will have a fortune of your own."

"I'm not so clear of that," said the boy, with a sly glance at his father. "People say that you will spend all your money on yourself, and leave none for me when _you_ die."

There was much--too much truth in this remark; and though Algernon laughed at what he termed his dear boy's wit, it stung him deeply.

"Where can he have learned that?" he thought; "such an idea could never have entered into the heart of a child." Then turning to Mrs. Paisley, who had just entered the room, he said,--

"Take and wash and clothe that little boy; and when he is nicely dressed, bring him in to speak to his cousin."

"Come, my little man," said the old lady, gently shaking the juvenile stranger. "Come, wake up. You have slept long enough. Come this way with me."

"Whose clothes are you going to put upon him?" demanded G.o.dfrey.

"Why in course, Master G.o.dfrey, you will lend him some of yours?"

"Well, if I do, remember, Paisley, you are not to take my best."

During this colloquy, Anthony had gradually woke up, and turning from one strange face to another, he lost all his former confidence, and began to cry. Paisley, who was really interested in the child, kindly wiped away his tears with the corner of her white ap.r.o.n, and gently led the weeper from the room.

While performing for him the long and painful ablutions which his condition required, Mrs. Paisley was astonished at his patience. "Why, Master G.o.dfrey would have roared and kicked, like a mad thing that he is, if I had taken half the liberty with him," said the dame to herself.

"Well, well, the little fellow seems to have a good temper of his own.

Now you have got a clean face, my little man, let me look at you, and see what you are like."

She turned him round and round, took off her spectacles, carefully wiped them, and re-adjusting them upon her nose, looked at the child with as much astonishment as if he had been some rare creature that had never before been exhibited in a Christian land.

"Mercy on me! but the likeness is truly wonderful--his very image; all but the dark eye; and that he may have got from the mother, as Master G.o.dfrey got his. I don't like to form hard thoughts of my master; but this is strange.--Mr. Glen!" and she rose hastily, and opened a door that led from her own little sanctuary into the servants' hall--"please to step in here for a moment."

"What's your pleasure, Mistress Paisley?" said the butler, a rosy, portly, good-natured man, of the regular John Bull breed, who, in snow-white trowsers, and blue-striped linen jacket, and a shirt adorned with a large frill (frills were then in fashion), strutted into the room. "Mistress Paisley, ma'arm, vot are your commands?"

"Oh, Mr. Glen," said the housekeeper, simpering, "I never command my equals--I leave my betters to do that. I wanted you just to look at this child."

"Look at him--vhy, vot's the matter vith un', Mrs. Paisley? He's generally a werry naughty boy; but he looks better tempered than usual to-day."

"Why, who do you take him for?" said Mrs. Paisley, evidently delighted at the butler's mistake.

"Vhy, for Master G.o.dfrey--is it not? Hey--vot--vhy--no--it is--and it isn't. Vot comical demonstration is this?"

"Well, I don't wonder, Jacob, at your mistake--it is, and it is not. Had they been twins, they could not have been more alike. G.o.dfrey, to be sure, has a haughty uppish look, which this child has not. But what do you think of our master now?"

"It must be his son."

The good woman nodded. "Such likenesses cannot come by accident. It is a good thing that my poor dear mistress did not live to see this day--and she so jealous of him--it would have broken her heart."

"Aye, you may vell say that, Mrs. Paisley. And some men are cruel, deceitful, partic'lar them there frank sort of men, like the Kurnel.

They are so pleasant like, that people never thinks they can be as bad as other volk. They have sich han hinnocent vay vith them. I vonder maister vos not ashamed of his old servants seeing him bring home a child so like himself."

"Well, my dear, and what is your name?" said Mrs. Paisley, addressing her wondering charge.

"Anthony Hurdlestone."