Blade-O'-Grass. Golden Grain. and Bread and Cheese and Kisses.

It was well for them that during this time George had saved a little money; but although he gave them every penny he had saved, and although they pledged nearly everything of value they had in the house, they were in debt when the strike was at an end.

'It'll be spring before we're clear, mother,' said Jim; 'we've got to pay this and that, you know.'

Mrs. Naldret knew it well enough, and she began to pinch and save; this little family fought the battle of life well.

Old Ben Sparrow, of course, suffered with the rest. Trade grew duller and duller, and he drifted steadily, got from bad to worse, and from worse to worse than that. Autumn came, and passed, and winter began to make the poor people shiver; for coals were at a wicked price. Down, down, went old Ben Sparrow; sadder and sadder grew his face; and one day, within a fortnight of Christmas-alas! it was just a year from the time when George was nearly going away-Bessie heard a loud and angry voice in the shop. She hurried in, and saw her grandfather trembling behind the counter. The man who had uttered the angry words was quitting the shop. Bessie asked for an explanation.

'It's the landlord, my dear,' he sobbed upon her shoulder, 'it's the landlord. I've been behindhand with the rent ever so long, and I've promised him and promised him, hoping that trade would improve, until he's quite furious, and swears that he'll put a man in possession to-morrow morning.'

'And you can't pay him, grandfather?'

'Bessie, my darling,' sobbed old Ben; 'there isn't eighteenpence in the house, and I owe other money as well. I'm a ruined man, Bessie, I'm a ruined man! And you, my dear! – O, dear! O, dear! what is to become of us?'

And the poor old fellow pleaded to her, and asked her forgiveness a hundred times, as if he were the cause of their misfortunes. No need to say how Bessie consoled and tried to cheer him. She drew him into the parlour, and coaxed and fondled him, and rumpled the little hair he had on his head, and so forgot her own sorrow out of sympathy for his, that he almost forgot it too. But once during the night, while she was sitting on a stool at his feet, he said softly and sadly, 'Ah, Bess! I wouldn't mind this trouble-I'd laugh at it really-if-if-'

'If what, dear?'

'If you and George were together, my darling.'

She did not reply, but rested her head on his knee, and looked sadly into the scanty fire. She saw no happy pictures in it.

THE MAN IN POSSESSION

Old Ben Sparrow had genuine cause for his distress. Ruin not only stared him in the face, but laid hold of him with a hard grip. The landlord was as good (or as bad) as his word. He called the following morning for his rent, and as it was not forthcoming, he took an inventory, and put a man in possession. He brought this person in with him. A strange-looking man, with a twelvemonth's growth of hair at least on his face and head, and all of it as white as snow. The faces of Ben Sparrow and Bessie were almost as white as they followed the hard landlord from room to room, like mourners at a funeral. There was first the shop, with very little stock in it, and that little in bad condition. As the landlord said, How could a man expect to do business, and be able to pay his way honestly, when everything he had to sell was stale and mouldy? And old Ben answered humbly:

'Yes, yes, sir; you're quite right, sir. I ought to have known better. It's all my fault, Bessie, my darling; all my fault.' And felt as if, instead of an immediate execution coming to him, he ought to be led off to immediate execution.

'What d'ye call these? asked the landlord contemptuously. 'Figs! Why, they're as shrivelled as-as you are.'

'Yes, yes, sir; quite right, sir. We are, sir, we are; we ought to be put away! We're worth nothing now-nothing now!'

After the shop came the parlour, with the furniture that old Ben had bought for his wedding more than forty years ago; he sobbed as the landlord called out, 'One old armchair, stuffed and rickety!' and said to Bessie: 'Your grandmother's favourite chair, my darling!'

The old fellow could have knelt and kissed the 'one old arm-chair, stuffed and rickety,' he was so tender about it. Then they went into the kitchen; then upstairs to Ben Sparrow's bedroom, and old Ben cried again as 'One old wooden bedstead: wheezy!' went down in the inventory; then into another bedroom, where Bessie and Tottie slept. The man in possession stooped down by the child's bed.

'What are you looking for?' demanded the landlord testily.

'I was thinking the child might be there,' replied the man in possession meekly; 'there is a child, isn't there?'

'What if there is!' exclaimed the landlord. 'Can't sell a child. There's no market for them.'

Old Ben explained: 'There is a child. Poor little Tottie! But we've sent her out to a neighbour's, thinking you would come.'

'And might frighten her, eh?' said the landlord. And shortly afterwards took his departure, leaving the man in possession with strict injunctions not to allow a thing to be taken out of the house.

'You're accountable, mind you,' were his last words.

Bessie and her grandfather felt as if the house had been suddenly turned into a prison, and as if this man, with his strange face and snow-white hair, had been appointed their gaoler. As he did not appear to notice them, old Ben beckoned to Bessie, and they crept out of the parlour into the shop for all the world as if they had been found guilty of some desperate crime. In the shop they breathed more freely.

'What are we to do with him, Bessie?' asked Ben. 'What do they generally do with men in possession? They give 'em tobacco and beer, I've heard. O, dear! O, dear! I don't mind for myself, my darling; I don't mind for myself. It's time I was put away. But for you, Bessie-O, my darling child! what have I done to deserve this? What have I done? What have I done?

'Grandfather,' said Bessie firmly, 'you mustn't go on like this. We must have courage. Now, I've made up my mind what I'm going to do. I'm going to take care of you, dear grandfather, as you have taken care of me. You know how clever I am with my needle, and I intend to get work; and you shall thread my needles for me, grandfather. We can live on very little-'

Her poor white lips began to tremble here, and she kissed the old man again and again, and cried in his arms, to show how courageous she was.

'I beg your pardon,' said a gentle voice behind them. It was the man in possession who spoke. 'I beg your pardon,' he repeated. 'May I beg a word with you in the parlour?'

They dared not for their lives refuse him, and they followed him tremblingly.

'I am aware,' he said then, as they stood before him like criminals, 'that I am here on an unpleasant duty, and that I must appear very disagreeable in your eyes-'

'No, no, sir,' remonstrated Ben, feeling that his fate and Bessie's were in this man's hands; 'don't say that, sir! Quite the contrary, indeed, sir; quite the contrary, eh, Bessie?'

And the arch old hypocrite tried to smile, to show that he was delighted with the man's company.

'-But I assure you,' continued the man, 'that I have no desire to annoy or distress you. I have gone through hardships myself-with a motion of his hand towards his white hair-'as you may see.'

'What is it you want us to do, sir? asked Ben Sparrow. 'I am sure anything you want, such as tobacco or beer-or anything that there is in the cupboard-'

'I want you to feel as if I wasn't in the house. I know, for instance, that this is your sitting-room; I don't want you to run away from it. If you like, I will go and sit in the kitchen.'

'No, no, sir!' implored Ben Sparrow. 'Not for worlds. We couldn't allow such a thing, could we, Bessie? This is my granddaughter, sir! – the dearest child that man ever had! – '

Why, here was the man in possession, as old Ben broke down, actually patting him on the shoulder, and looking into his face with such genuine sympathy, that before Ben knew where he was, he had held out his hand as to a friend! What would the next wonder be?

'That's right,' said the man in possession; 'we may as well be comfortable together, and I shall take it ill of you, if you and your granddaughter do not use the parlour just as if I wasn't here. If you don't, I shall go and sit in the kitchen.'

They could do nothing else, after this, but look upon the parlour as their own again. Bessie felt very grateful to the man for the sympathy he had shown to her grandfather, and she took out her old workbox, and sat down to mend a pair of Tottie's socks. 'The way that child makes holes in her toes and heels is most astonishing,' Ben had often remarked.

The man in possession glanced at the little socks, and then at Bessie so thoughtfully and kindly, that she gave him a wistful smile, which he returned, and said:

'Thank you, child!' in a very sweet and gentle tone.

When dinner-time came, and before they could ask him to share their humble meal, he went to the street-door and called a boy, who, in obedience to his instructions, bought some cold meat and bread at a neighbouring shop. All he asked Bessie to give him was a glass of cold water, and with this and his bread-and-meat he made a good meal. To the astonishment of Bessie and old Ben, they found they were growing to like him. After dinner, he seemed to be drowsy, and sat with closed eyes and thoughtful face in the corner of the room he had appropriated to himself, which, it maybe remarked, was not the warmest corner. Bessie and old Ben talked in whispers at first, so as not to disturb him, but after a time his regular breathing convinced them that he was sleeping; and Bessie laid down her plans to the old man. When they were turned out of the shop they would take one room, Bessie said; they would be very comfortable, she was sure, if they would only make up their minds to be so, and she would work for all three, for grandfather, Tottie, and herself. Indeed, the girl showed herself so much of a true woman in her speech, that she was almost beginning to persuade the old man that what had occurred was, after all, no great misfortune.

'How strange that his hair should be white!' remarked Ben, looking at the sleeping man. 'He does not seem old enough for that. He isn't very attentive to his duties, whatever they may be. Why, Bessie,' said the old man in a whisper that was almost gleeful, 'we could actually run away!' But his thoughts assumed their sadder tenor immediately afterwards, and he sighed, 'Ah, Bessie! What will George think of all this? They've had trouble at home too, Bessie dear, during the strike. I often wished, during that time, that I could have gone and sat with them, and comforted them; and you wished so too, Bess, I know.'

'Yes, dear,' answered Bess in a quiet tone, 'I wished so too. But George might have put a wrong construction upon it.'

'Bess, darling, tell me-'

'No, no!' cried Bessie, holding up her hands entreatingly, for she anticipated what he was about to say. 'Don't ask me, grandfather! It can never, never be! O my dear, I try to forget, but I can't!' She paused, unable to proceed for her tears, but presently said, 'I should be so much happier if he thought better of me-although I know we can never be to each other what we were! I was angry and indignant at first, but I am not so now. If he had only answered me about Tottie-dear little Tottie-'

The man murmured in his sleep, and they spoke in hushed voices.

'It was wrong of me to doubt him,' continued the girl, 'very, very wrong! I should have trusted him, as he told me to. He can never think well of me again-never, never! But do you know, dear, that I have loved Tottie more since that time than I did before-poor little motherless thing! I shall never be happy again! Never again! O, my poor heart!'

It was Ben's turn now to be the consoler, and he soothed her, and caressed her, and suddenly cried:

'Bessie! young Mr. Million!'

What made Bessie turn white at the name? What made her gasp and bite her lips, as the young gentleman entered the room?

'I am grieved to hear of what has happened, Mr. Sparrow,' he said, taking off his hat; 'and I have come at once to ask if you will allow me to assist you.'

'Hush, if you please, sir,' returned Ben. 'Speak low. That-that man in the corner has been put in by the landlord, and I shouldn't like to wake him. We are in great distress-ruined, I may say, sir-'

'Then let me help you,' interrupted young Mr. Million eagerly. 'It will be a pleasure to me. Let me pay this man off. You and Miss Sparrow will confer an obligation upon me-believe me! – if you will allow me to do this.'

'I thank you for your offer, sir,' replied Ben, with a helpless look around the humble room in which he had spent many happy years, 'but'-something in Bessie's face imparted a decision to his voice-'it can't be, sir, it can't be.'

'Why?'

'Well, sir, it might get talked about, and that wouldn't do Bessie any good. You see, sir, you are so far above us that it's impossible we-we can mix, sir. Yes, sir, that's it; it's impossible we can mix. No, sir, it can't be.'

Young Mr. Million was silent for a few moments, and tapped with his fingers impatiently on the table.

'For some time,' he then said, 'I have seen that you and Miss Sparrow have rejected my advances, and have been different from what you were. Why, may I ask again?'

'Well, sir,' replied old Ben, emboldened by the expression on Bessie's face, 'it will be best to speak plain. You see, sir, the neighbours will talk; and when they see a gentleman like you always a-visiting poor people like us, they want to know the reason of it. And as we've no reason to give, they make one for themselves. People will talk, you see, sir; and I am afraid that my Bessie's name-my Bessie! the best girl in the world, sir; good enough to be a Princess-'

'That she is,' put in young Mr. Million.

'-Well, sir, as I was saying, I am afraid that my Bessie's name has got mixed up with yours by people's tongues in such a way as to cause sorrow to her and to me. I have heard, sir, that she was seen one day-nearly a year ago now-go into your house, and that has been set against her, and flung into her teeth, as a body might say. Well, she did go into your house that once-and only that once, mind! – and took a letter from me which you desired me to send by her last year when I was in trouble. You helped us then, sir, and I am grateful to you, though I can't pay you. And we've got it into our heads-Bessie and me-that that, and the earrings you gave her-for they've been talked about too, and that's the reason we sent them back to you-was the cause of a greater sorrow to my poor girl than she has ever experienced in her life.'

'O!' exclaimed young Mr. Million, with a slight sneer in his tone. 'You mean because the affair between Miss Sparrow, and that cub, George Naldret, has been broken off.'

From Bessie's eyes came such a flash that if the idle young dog could have flown through the door, and have disappeared there and then instantaneously, he would have gladly availed himself of the opportunity. Old Ben Sparrow's blood; also, was up.

'Be kind enough to go, sir,' he said, with more dignity of manner than Bessie had ever seen in him; 'and wherever we are, either here or elsewhere, leave us to ourselves and our troubles.'

Their voices roused the man in possession; he yawned, and opened his eyes. Young Mr. Million saw here an opportunity to assert himself as the heir of a great brewery, and to indulge in a small piece of malice, at one and the same time.

'I must show my sense of your ingratitude,' he said, 'by somewhat severe measures, and therefore you will arrange at once for the repayment of the money I have advanced to you. I must remind you that there is such a thing as imprisonment for debt. As for the money which your son embezzled from our firm, I must leave my father to settle that with you. In the mean time-'

'In the mean time,' interrupted the man in possession, to the astonishment of all, 'I'm the master of this house, being in possession; and as you're not down in the inventory, I must request you to leave.'

And without allowing the idle young dog to utter another word, the man in possession, with a wrist of iron, twisted him round, and thrust him from the old grocer's shop.

So young Mr. Million, for a fresh supply of wild oats, had to go to another market. And doubtless succeeded in obtaining them: they are plentiful enough.

Ben Sparrow could not but thank the man in possession for his friendly interference.

'Don't mention it,' said the man in possession, adding, with an odd smile, 'he's not down in the inventory, you know.'

The interview had caused old Ben and Bessie great agitation, and left them sadly distressed; but nothing could exceed the consideration of the man in possession. He did not ask them for a word of explanation. When, indeed, the old man stumblingly referred to it, he turned the conversation, and asked for a sheet of paper and an envelope. These being supplied to him, he wrote a note, and when, after putting it in the envelope and addressing it, he looked up, his hitherto sad face wore such a bright expression that Ben whispered to his granddaughter,

'Really, Bessie, he is a good fellow; he puts heart into one;' and said aloud, 'Can I post the letter for you, sir?

'No, thank you,' was the reply; 'I can send it by a messenger. I mustn't let you out of my sight, you know. The landlord said I was accountable for you.'

Old Ben began to feel as if he were in prison again.

It was dark when Tottie was brought home; she ran into the parlour calling for grandfather and Bessie, and jumped into their arms, and kissed them, and pulled old Ben's hair; she seemed to bring light in with her. 'Is that Tottie?' asked the man in possession in a tremulous tone.

'Yes, sir, yes,' replied old Ben. 'Go to the gentleman, my dear.'

Something like a sob came from the man in possession as he lifted Tottie, and kissed her; and when, a little while afterwards, the lamp was lighted, and Tottie was seen curled up contentedly in the man's arms, eating sweets which he was giving her: with such a sweet tooth as Tottie had, it was no wonder she was easily bought over: old Ben whispered to Bessie,

'Depend upon it, my dear, he has got a little daughter at home, and that makes him fond of Tottie.'

Everything about this strange man was so gentle, that they actually looked upon him as a friend instead of an enemy.

SOFTLY, SWEETLY, PROCEEDS THE HYMN OF HOME

'It is a story about two friends-' It is the man in possession who is speaking. Tottie is lying in his arms as contentedly as if she has known him all her life; he has told her the prettiest of stories, and the child has crowed and laughed over them, until she is almost tired with the pleasure and excitement. And now, although it is very nearly eleven o'clock, and time to think of going to bed, Bessie and her grandfather find themselves listening to a story which he says he desires to tell them. Of course they dare not refuse to listen.

'It is a story about two friends-mainly about those, although the dearest hopes of others better and purer than they are mixed up in it The story is a true one. What shall I call these friends, so as to distinguish them? Shall I say George for one- What is the matter, my dear?' For Bessie has looked with a startled glance into the stranger's face. 'George is a common name enough, and this man whom I call George is a good man, in every sense of the word. Say, shall I call him George?'

'Yes, if you please,' replies Bessie faintly, turning her face from him.

'And the other-I will call him Saul.'

'Bessie, my dear!' exclaims old Ben Sparrow. 'Do you hear? Saul and George!'

Bessie's hand steals into his, and the stranger continues.

'Say, then, Saul and George. They lived and grew to manhood in just such a neighbourhood as this. Saul was the elder of the two by six or seven years; but notwithstanding the difference in their ages, they became firm friends. They talked much together, and read together; for Saul was a great reader, and took delight in studying, and (according to his own thinking) setting wrong things right. I believe that, at one time of his life, he really had a notion that it was his mission to redress the wrongs of his class; at all events, it is certain that he elected himself the champion of his fellow-workmen, and as he had the fatal gift of being able to speak well and fluently, the men listened to him, and accepted his high-flown words as the soundest of logic. George admired his friend, although he did not agree with him; and when he was a man he took an opportunity of vowing eternal friendship to Saul. Such a vow meant something more than words with George; for he was constant and true to the dictates of his heart Where he professed friendship, there he would show it. Where he professed love, there would he feel it. And it might be depended upon that neither in his friendship nor his love would he ever change. He was no idle talker. Saul, working himself into a state of false enthusiasm respecting his mission, waited but for an opportunity to raise his flag. The opportunity came. A dispute arose between master and men in a certain workshop; Saul plunged himself into the dispute, and by his fatal gift inflamed the men, and fanned the discontent until it spread to other workshops. Neither men nor masters would yield. A strike was the result. In this strike Saul was the principal agitator; he was the speaker and the man upon whom all depended, in whom all trusted. Hear, in a few words, what occurred then. After making things as bitter as he could; after making the men believe that the masters were their natural enemies; after making a speech one night, filled with false conclusions, but which fired the men to a more determined resistance; after doing all this, Saul suddenly deserted his followers, and left them in the lurch. He told them that, upon more serious consideration, he had been led to alter his mind, and that he was afraid of the misery a longer fight would bring upon them and their families. The men were justly furious with him; they called him names which he deserved to be called; and the result was that the men returned to work upon the old terms, and that all of them-masters and men-turned their backs upon the man who had betrayed them. Only one among them remained his friend. That one was George. From that day Saul began to sink; he could get no work; and he dragged down with him a woman who loved him, who had trusted in him, and whom he had robbed of her good name. Stay, my dear,' said the man in possession, placing a restraining hand upon Bessie's sleeve; the girl had risen, uncertain whether to go or stay. 'You must hear what I have to say; I will endeavour to be brief. This woman had a child, a daughter, born away from the neighbourhood in which Saul was known. Her love was great; her grief was greater. Saul showed himself during this time to be not only a traitor, but a coward. He took to drink. What, then, did this good woman-ah, my dear, how good she was only Saul knows! – what did this good woman resolve to do, for her child's sake? She resolved that she would not allow her child to grow up and be pointed at as a child of shame; that she would endeavour to find some place where it could be cared for, and where, if happier times did not come to her, the child might grow up in the belief that her parents were dead. Shame should not cast its indelible shadow over her darling's life. Saul, in his better mood, agreed with her. "I have no friends," said this woman to Saul; "have you? Have you a friend who, out of his compassion for the child and friendship for you, would take my darling from me, and care for it as his own?" Saul had no friend but one. George! He went to George, and told his trouble, and this dear noble friend, this Man! arranged with a neighbour to take the child, and bring her up. He promised sacredly to keep Saul's secret, and only to tell one person the story of the poor little forsaken one. "I may marry one day, Saul," he said, "and then I must tell it to my wife." In this way the mother obtained her desire; in this way came about her love's sacrifice!'

Tick-tick-tick-comes from the old-fashioned clock in the corner. Bessie has sunk into her chair, and her head is bowed upon the table. She hears the clear tick, and thinks of a year ago, when, standing at the door with her lover, it sounded so painfully in her ears. What pain, what pleasure, has this strange man brought to her! For she knows that the story he is telling is true, and that Saul's friend, George, is her George, whom she has loved truly and faithfully during all this sad year. What pain! What pleasure! What pain to feel that George is parted from her for ever! What pleasure to know that he is without a stain, that he is even more noble than her love had painted him! She raises her head; her eyes are almost blinded by her tears; she stretches forth her arms for Tottie.