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10 upward, while his lips moved in whispered words of thankfulness.

"What ails you, grandpapa?" asked Ellen, in surprise. But the old man did not seem to hear her voice.

"Dear grandpapa," repeated the girl, "why do you look so strangely?" She had risen in bed, and was bending toward him.

"Ellen, child," said the old man, a light breaking over his countenance, as though a sunbeam had suddenly come into the room, "it was your old grandfather who gave the flowers to that poor little boy. Did you hear what he said?—he would divide his last morsel."

The old man moved around the room with his unsteady steps, talking in a wandering way, so overjoyed at the prospect of relief for his child, that he was nearly beside himself. But there yet lingered some embers of pride in his heart; and from these the ashes were blown away, and they became bright and glowing. The thought of a favour as a return for that little act, which was to him, at the time, a pleasure, came with a feeling of reluctance. But when he looked at the pale young girl who lay with her eyes close and her faecface [sic] half buried in the pillow, he murmured to himself, "It is for you—for you!" And taking up his staff, he went tottering forth into the open air.

The editor was sitting in his office, writing, when he heard the door open, and turning, he saw before him an old man with bcntbent [sic] and snowy forehead. Something in the visitor's countenance struck him as familiar; but he did not recognize him as one whom he had seen before.

"Is Mr T in?" inquired the old man.

"My name is T" replied the editor.

"You?" There was a slight expression of surprise in the old man‘s voice.

"Yes, I am T, my friend," was kindly said. "can I do anything for you? Take this chair."