68 TIM'S STORY. 



ginning from the moment when, in a fever of distress at the 

 discovery of his loss and the old woman's treachery, he had 

 left the cottage. For what purpose did he go ? He knew 

 not, except that he could not bear to stay within ; and having 

 not a single friend living in the village, or anywhere, to 

 whom to impart his trouble, whither should he bend his steps 

 but to where habit led him to the place where all his friends 

 departed were assembled to the churchyard ? But let us try 

 to give the substance of his narrative if substance we may 

 call what seemed composed entirely of shadows in his own, 

 or nearly his own, words. 



"When I got there," said he, " the church clock had just 

 gone nine ; it was rather dark, but I could have found my 

 way blindfold to the old place, grandfather's grave, beside 

 father's and mother's, and close agen the grand moniment. I 

 was sore tired foot- weary and heart-weary so I throwed by 

 my crutch and laid me down along the turf. My face was 

 a-burning, as well it might, with trouble and with shame, to 

 think that I had lost the last thing as ever he give me his 

 own work he was so proud on, and the money he had put by 

 for me and it was a-burning too with anger (God forgive 

 me !) to think that she to whom he had always been so kind 

 and neighbourly that she could rob me of my all. But 

 when I laid my cheek upon the grass, all wet with dew, it 

 felt pleasant and fresh to me, and the tears, that wouldn't 

 come before, fell free and soft-like, and the ache at my heart 



