46 THE ORPHAN BOY. 



No wonder, with such teaching and with such almost sole 

 companionship, that as years went on and the aged man sank 

 down towards second childhood, the sickly, decrepit child 

 seemed to grow up (though he grew but little) into old age. 

 In countenance, in step, in speech, he was never young; he 

 was as unable as unwilling to join the sturdy villagers in their 

 joyous sports; and when on rare occasions, he chanced to 

 come among them, although he was as gentle and harmless 

 a creature as ever drew breath, the timid of the crew 

 would keep aloof and eye him with distrustful looks, while 

 the bold and bad jeered at his deformity, and gave him 

 the nick-names of "My Lord" and "Tombstone Tim." 



When about fifteen, Tim lost his grandfather, his only 

 friend. The office he had performed for so many, another 

 did for him ; the lowly bed of the late sexton being made, by 

 his own particular desire, between that of his son and daughter 

 (the orphan's parents) and the grand old monument which had 

 been the pride of his life, at all events of his latter years. All 

 through the progress of his gradual decline and last illness, 

 poor Timothy had been the sole and tender nurse of him who, 

 through the previous course of his own feeble, blighted days 

 had been his only supporter ; and the thin, weak, effeminate 

 hands, unfit for the mattock and the plough, were well suited 

 to prop the head and smooth the pillow of declining age. 



For the last fourteen years, from the period nearly when 

 his orphan grandson had been thrown upon his charge, old 



