timorously, as though he were wearying his
hearers with his "old stories." And though
they were indeed entertaining, and full of colour
and character, he could only be got to go on,
under protest, as it were, and with a struggle
between two feelings—that of fearing to
disoblige or of tiring—which was almost amusing.
There was a family or two with whom he was
distantly connected, and where there were children,
and by them his coining was always looked
for as a holiday, and on the day of the visit
videttes, posted at the window, looked out
anxiously towards six o'clock for the half-stooping
figure that came limping up so quietly yet so
steadily to the door, and with a cry and
a united scamper, gave notice that the captain
was at hand. By elders of this family he was
sometimes called "Tom," and by the younger ones
he was sometimes, with glowing cheeks and a
blush of shame and humiliation, taken in
confidence with reference to sudden pecuniary
embarrassments.On such occasions the nobility and
the delicacy of the captain's behaviour excited a
tumult of delight—a delight that could not
find words. For the captain had an old crimson
silk purse, made for him out of an officer's sash
by a lady years ago, which came out, and in
which his thin pale fingers explored. Gratitude
was on his face at the kind confidence
that had been reposed.

"Now, my dear fellow," he would say, diving
into the narrow opening of the long crimson
purse, "this is what I like. This is really what
I am proud of! Now mind, if you do not
always come to me in this wav, you and I are
two."

But the real time of jubilee was when "Tom,"
coming back from the country with a small
modest old black portmanteau, would be
induced to stay a night or two with one of these
families. For he always gave leave to his landlady,
whom, he said, was a " poor struggling
creature," to let his rooms in his absence, and
sometimes his return would come about
awkwardly, in the very middle of such a lodger's
tenure, so that he would feel himself bound to
go to an hotel for a night or two, or to accept
the hospitality of these friends as described.
They would sometimes remonstrate with him a
little warmly on this weakness, saying, "If I
were you I wouldn't do it. It's perfect folly
of you! I think you are far too good, uncle
Tom. I wouldn't put myself out in that way,
or let myself be made a hand of in that way,
and by a woman of that sort." To which
uncle Tom would, with a little confusion,
plead his old excuse, "Ah, the creature! She
has to struggle so to make up her little rent
and taxes. My dear, it's no trouble in the
world to me. I rather like going to the hotel."
"Turning you out of your own room!" the
lady would go on, warmly, "your own room, for
which you have paid!"

"Ah, the creature," uncle Tom would say
again. "A fellow that was in the front parlour
went off three weeks ago, and owing her a
month's rent, which she was counting on to pay
her taxes, the creature! I assure you she was
crying for an hour in the room, telling it to
me."

"And of course you paid them for her?"
said the indignant lady. "I am ashamed of
you. You are like a child about your money.
It should be taken from you, and kept for
you."

"No, no, upon my word and credit, no,"
said the captain, very eagerly. " No, no. I
am not that sort of man. I would not do that
for her. 'Pon my word, no."

But there was a belief that amounted to
certainty in the minds of all there that he had
paid the crying landlady's taxes; as indeed he
had. And with this he was not in the least soft
or foolish. Among these stories, which he was
reluctant to relate, were several associated with
the shape of "Satisfaction" then in fashion among
gentlemen, in one of which he himself had been
principal, and out of which he had come, as the
phrase went, "with flying colours." But in
many more he had assisted as "friend" with
great " pluck" and tact, and either pushed the
affair to extremities, or arranged it happily, as
the occasion required. Some of these which
bore a little against himself—as in the instance
of the constable's coming up and arresting him,
to his astonishment, as he stepped out of the
coach, with a shining mahogany case under his
arm—he told with much humour and happy
simplicity.

The children, however, would always look
upon him as a Great Commander, and for a long
time associated the lameness with a mysterious
wound received in battle. Their eager and
earnest questions on this subject he often turned
off with a smile, but though often pressed for
details of the action, could never be induced to
enter upon it. The parents' eyes were always
on him, and through that wonderful delicacy
with which he was leavened through and through,
he felt that in some way their dignity and pleasure
required that the little legend should be
kept up. And so it was, until one of the boys,
growing up, asked him in a sort of confidential
way, as between man and man, and then it came
out that "Tom" had got his injury leaping
across a ditch with his gun, when he had put
his hip "out." In truth, he was always in
gentle protest against these military "honours"
which his friends would affectionately press on
him for his reputation with the public.

It was quite natural, therefore, that when he
heard of his relation dying at Dieppe, and leaving
these two girls, that he should think of hurrying
over to help them. But he got ill suddenly, and
was shut up in his room for weeks, during which
time the maid and landlady attended on the
captain anxiously, and an old military doctor--
Gilpin of the—th-- came, and went as he came,
sturdily refusing fees. During this season the
patient suffered deep distress of mind, apologising
often for all the trouble he was giving. But
he was strong, and very soon was " on his legs"
again. Then he wrote to the two orphan girls,
insisting that they should come to him—for a