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 in the trees and on the hedgerows about them. But, as they turned the road at the top of the hill which led down to the home of the roses, their laughter became silent, and their lips ceased to move. They gathered together in a bunch, not in affright, but more in childish sympathy at the sight before them. A woman sat on a grassy mound. Her face was pale, her cheeks pinched, her eyes looked as though they had shed many tears; but yet how pretty she was! She was dressed all in black—there was crape on her cloak and bonnet. She held something muffled up in her arms. The children looked, and guessed it was a baby. The woman smiled, and seemed to invite them to come nearer. Then one of the children gave the woman some flowers, and a flush of happiness came into her poor wan face.

"Would you like to see my little boy?" she asked. And all the children gathered round whilst the mother drew aside the scarf from round her baby's neck, so that they might see it the better. It, too, had tiny black bows on its little hat.

"Oh, how grandfather would love to see him!" cried one of the children.

"May we take him to grandfather? It's his birthday today. It would make him so happy."

"And who is grandfather?" she asked.

"You don't live here, do you?" questioned one of the youngsters.

"No," the woman answered. "I am quite a stranger here. But why do you ask?"

"Because you don't know grandfather," came the logical reply,

"Well, tell me who he is."

Then one of the children took the woman by the hand, and led her to the corner from whence the hill started towards the spot where the roses grew. The cottage was pointed out to her.

"That's Rose Glen," the child said.

"Yes, I can smell the roses here. Oh, how sweet!" the woman murmured, looking at the cottage.

"That's where he lives," the little one went on.

"Yes," said a child than the others, "Mr. Holloway—"

The woman wild gave a scream, which almost made the children run from her in dismay. She had nearly fallen to the ground. But she was herself in a moment.

"Oh! my my children, children," she cried pitifully, "don't turn from me—don't be frightened—don't be afraid of me! I love you every one. Come nearer to me. Oh! come nearer to me. That's right. I love you every one. I know—I know it is his birthday today. And would he—would he love to see my little one, would it make him happy? Do you think he would kiss it just as he does you, and give it a smile the same as he gives you? Would he take it in his arms like the tiniest of you?"

She had won the sympathy of the children