been any stain on our name, I told him, but always a good word for father and all belonging to him, and I certainly thought the knowledge of that helped to keep a fellow straight himself, the knowledge that no tongue could be wagged against kith or kin of his.

"You must have felt the benefit yourself," I said, "for the Grants in Axebridge, and of course all the rest of you, have a good name of their own, and to be sure that must have helped to make you hold your own head high, knocking about as you seem to have done."

It puzzled me why Mr. Ned Grant should look upon this remark as a joke, and quite double himself up laughing at it, or at me, I hardly knew which; but he presently grew serious, and we walked in deep silence for awhile, he sighing heavily from time to time, till all of a sudden, catching sight of me watching his face, he shook off his gravity and clapped me on the back, owning that there was truth in what I said, there was a deal in a name, a very great deal after all, and a good one was as serviceable a possession as a man could have-or could pick up, which I remember thinking at the time was a strange expression.

Well, by and by we came under the park palings where the trees cast a pleasant shade on the road, and so passed on to the house of the agent with whom my business lay. The timber father was buying was all down of course, and there was no occasion for me to see it; I had only to give father's message about the payment and arrange for fetching the stuff away. Ned Grant stood by and listened while the arrangement was made and the time fixed as near as might be. I thought to myself, in my ignorant self-conceit, that he was impressed by the agent's manner and the whole look of things on the estate, and saw for himself that Smithson was not the sort of man with whom they were likely to have any dealings, and I felt sorry for my

new friend, since I was persuaded he began to feel ashamed himself of having ought to do with Smithson.

This feeling made me more inclined than ever to be friendly with my companion, and I don't know that ever I had a pleasanter walk in my life than the long walk back to Axebridge that afternoon.

CHAPTER V.

LITTLE Grace was but three years old that summer, and of course a great pet and plaything with us all, as the youngest in a large family is apt to be. She was over and above fond of me, and liked nothing better than to be perched upon my shoulder and carried about the yard, or over any work that was going on. I'd taken her to the Hall so many a time. But the person mostly with Grace, and without whom she was seldom to be seen, was our sister next in age, and she but seven herself. You see, the three lads came between Susie and the elder girls, so that Susie and little Grace paired off together as it were, and where one was, the other was seldom far off. Aunt Milly felt easy always about the child when Susie looked after her, which she had done all her life-so much so that we had a way of calling her "little mother." These two were a great deal about with me, and as I could safely hand Grace over to the other little steady maid, they were never in my way, and as I have said Aunt Milly seldom troubled about them.

Grace must have run away by herself that afternoon, for as we drew near the town what should I see hanging about the gate of the timber-yard but the well-known little figure? We were a long way off when I saw it first, but I had strong sight in those days. Ned Grant had stopped short at the

turn of the lane; his way did not lie through Axebridge, and it was while we stood taking leave of one another that I first caught sight of my little sister.

Stupid-like, I hallooed to the child, making sure however that some of them, maybe Aunt Milly, but for sure and certain Susie, was with her. To my surprise the little thing came running down the road alone, standing still now and then, and at the sound of my voice trotting on again.

Ned Grant seemed in a hurry to be off; he looked about him in a queer, watchful way, that did not strike me at the time, but which I recalled afterwards. I wanted him to stay and see Grace. It amused me to have her run to me like that, stopping, and going on again, and I all the time surprised no one came after her. She had got near enough to see me distinctly, having been guided up to that more by my voice shouting to her, and was laughing and calling out herself as she came on, when in less time than it takes to write the words, a runaway horse in the doctor's gig that had been standing before a door higher up, tore down the road behind her, past her, rattled away in the distance, and left me half blind and sick with terror.

Almost before the horse had started, Ned Grant had dashed from my side, and run towards Grace. He had just time, and only just, to seize Grace and throw her aside into the hedge; but he was knocked down himself. The gig had passed me and was rattling far away down the road before I fairly took in what had happened. It was all over in a moment.

When I got up to them my little sister was crying, frightened of course, and a little hurt by her rough fall. Ned Grant had got up and walked to the hedge and sat down there. He walked unsteadily and looked white and shaken. I don't know what I said to him, or if it was anything at

all like what I wished to say, or in any way, however weakly, expressed the thanks of which my very heart was full, but I remember seeing him smile and hearing him say—

"Come, come, that's quite enough. You go on like one beside yourself, Joe."

I did feel beside myself. When I thought of father, and what it would have been to carry the child home to him dead, or even maimed and injured; when I thought of Aunt Milly, who set such store by Grace, and of the poor "little mother," who would have been so lost without her charge, I don't know what I said or did, I only know Mr. Grant repeated over and over-" Don't make such a fool of yourself, lad," and that, though the words may seem a bit rough, he was nearly as much upset as I was myself.

Of course we were not very long alone. The doctor's boy, who ought to have been minding the horse and who was frightened half out of his wits at the result of his negligence, came first, and then the doctor himself, very angry as was but natural. He stopped to examine Ned Grant, reported him much shaken, but no bones broken.

"It was at the risk of your life, though," he said; "it has been a great escape for you and the child both."

I wanted my friend-for if I had begun to reckon him so before, how much more did I count him a friend now ?—I wanted him to come home with me, but he would not hear of it.

"Just help me out of this," he said; "let me get into the meadows where no one is like to pass, and do for goodness' sake allow a man to know his own mind, Joe."

So I helped him over the stile and into a grass field on which the evening sunshine lingered, for it was getting late by now, and we sat down there while he rested, and little Grace played about us and made such fast friends with him as quite surprised me, though she was always a friendly

little maid. And by and by, when he was somewhat recovered, Ned Grant walked away over the meadows and looked back at us, laughing as he went.

If ever in all my life I gave humble and hearty thanks to the Almighty, I did so that night when I placed my little sister in father's arms. There was no talk of business that evening; we could think of nothing but the child.

"Hal Grant is a good friend to you, Joe," my father observed once, "and never showed himself a better than when he made you known to this cousin of his to-day." And so to be sure we all thought.

The "little mother" had not left her charge alone; she never did that. It seemed they had gone together to the timber-yard thinking to meet me and walk home with me; and there Susie bethought herself of an errand she had to the woman who did our mangling, and who lived a short way off in a cottage standing in the fields. Grace was not willing to leave her play with the chips and sawdust, and Susie had bid the man in the yard have an eye to her. But he being the new hand I have spoken of, and not knowing our ways, and being deaf into the bargain, had taken small heed to the child, and had gone off at six o'clock without so much as waiting for Susie to come back. When she did come no one was in sight-Ned Grant and I and the child had crossed the stile by then; and making sure the man had left Grace at our door, he having to call there himself before he went home, Susie had followed at her leisure, and as it happened I was home myself pretty nigh as soon as she was.

Father declared he could not rest easy till he had gone over to shake our neighbour Grant by the hand and tell of the service his kinsman had rendered us all. Hal returned with father, and was quite set up at having been the means of my making acquaintance with his cousin. We grew