LITTLE TIM. 45 



Timothy never knew, having lost both while in his cradle; 

 wherewith he was transferred to the roof of his grandfather, the 

 sexton. Partly, perhaps, as the inheritance of a consumptive 

 mother, partly from the bad nursing of an ill-paid hireling, the 

 boy soon showed symptoms of a weakly constitution, followed 

 by deformity and stunted growth, afflictions, especially the 

 latter, whereby he acquired one point of personal and increasing 

 resemblance to his knightly namesake, and with it also a fresh 

 hold, not only on the love, but even on the pride of his grand- 

 father. 



So long as the old man lived, the orphan never felt the want 

 of a mother's love or a father's protection. He, the little Tim, 

 and the great monument of Sir Timothy, were the two things 

 on earth to which the old sexton's heart most fondly clung. 

 The decaying tomb which it was his pride to keep clear of 

 moss and weeds, and the sickly child whose fragile life was 

 hardly supported by his care, seemed in his mind to be more 

 closely connected than by name. All the orphan knew he 

 had learnt from his grandfather, who, playing the school- 

 master after his own fashion, had taught him first his letters, 

 then his lessons, from the tombstones; and rewarded his 

 diligence by telling him, as they sat together in the churchyard 

 in summer, or over their scanty fire in winter, tales of wonder, 

 all gathered from the graves ; at the head of which, and en- 

 graven by repetition, there always stood foremost the legendary 

 story of Sir Timothy and his wicked lady. 



