I've not forgot him, and he hasn't forgot me; but there's a many things ought to be done, and I cannot think what." "Leave it all to us," said Mr.Ross, leading him back to his chair.

"But have you no neighbour you can go and stay with for to-night?
You are an old man, and you must not lose your night's sleep." "No," he answered, shaking his head; "I'd rather stay here in my own place, if I'd a hundred other places to go to.

I'm not afraid of my little love,--no, no! When everything is done as ought to be done, I'll lie in my own bed and watch her.

It won't be lonesome, as long as she's here." In an hour's time all was settled for that night.

A little resting-place had been made for the dead child in a corner of the room, where she lay covered with a coarse white sheet, which was the last one left of those which old Oliver's wife had spun in her girlhood.