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 consump- 

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

 the boy soon showed symptoms of a weakly constitution, fol- 

 lowed by deformity and stunted growth, afflictions, especially 

 the latter, whereby he acquired one point of personal and in- 

 creasing resemblance to his knightly namesake, and with it 

 also a fresh hold, not only on the love, but even on the pride 

 of his grandfather. 



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 schoolmas- 

 ter after his own fashion, had taught him first his letters, then 

 his lessons, from the tombstones ; and awarded his diligence 

 by telling him, as they sat together in the churchyard in sum- 

 mer, or over their scanty fire in winter, tales of wonder, all 

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

 en by repetition, there always stood foremost the legendary 

 story of Sir Timothy and his wicked lady. 



