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

Every nerve in George's body quivered with passion and pain.

'You can't frighten me with bluster,' said young Mr. Million, who was no coward, 'although you may try to frighten ladies with it. As my presence here is likely to cause farther pain to a lady whom I esteem'-with a respectful look towards Bessie, which caused George to press his nails into his palms-'I will take my leave, unless Mr. Sparrow wishes me to stay as a protection to him and his granddaughter.'

'No, sir; I thank you,' replied Ben Sparrow sorrowfully. 'George Naldret can do my child no more harm than he has done already.'

'Then I will go;' and he moved towards the door, 'first saying, however, that I tried to be this man's friend-'indicating George with a contemptuous motion of his hand, and repeating, 'that I tried to be his friend-'

'You lie!' cried George.

'-Thinking,' continued young Mr. Million, with quiet disdain, 'that he was better than others of his class. But I was mistaken. Mr. Sparrow, you exonerate me from all blame in what has taken place?'

'Entirely, sir,' said Ben Sparrow, in a sad and troubled voice.

'I wish you and your grandchild good-day, then, and leave my hearty sympathy behind me.'

With these words, and with a triumphant look at George, the idle young dog took his departure. Then, after a brief pause, George said:

'I have nothing more to stop for now.'

And, with a look of misery, was about to depart, when Tottie ran to his side, and plucking him by the coat, looked up into his face.

'Don't go,' said Tottie; 'stop and play.'

'I can't, my dear,' said George, raising the child in his arms and kissing her. 'I must go. Goodbye, little one.'-He set the child down; tears were coming to his eyes, but he kept them back.

'One moment, George Naldret,' said old Ben Sparrow, trying to be dignified, but breaking down. 'George-my dear George-what is the meaning of this?'

'I have no explanation to give, Mr. Sparrow,' replied George sadly.

'George, my dear boy, think for a moment! Are you right in what you are doing? Look at my darling, George; look-'

'Grandfather!'

The word came from Bessie's white lips; but the voice, struggling through her agony, sounded strange in their ears. The word, however, was sufficient; it carried its meaning in it; it told her grandfather not to beg for her of any man.

'You are right, my darling,' he sobbed; 'you are right. But neither of you will speak, and I am almost distracted. You are not going abroad then, George?'

'No, Mr. Sparrow; I have no need to go now.'

Bessie's strength was giving way. Pride, humiliation, wounded love, suspicion of her lover's faith, were conquering her. She held out her trembling hand to her grandfather. He took it, and cried:

'George! George! you are breaking her heart!'

'She has broken mine!' replied George, and turned without another word, and left the room, almost blinded by grief and despair. The moment he was gone, a sigh that was almost a groan broke from Bessie's wounded heart, and she sank into old Ben Sparrow's arms, and fainted there.

WELL, MOTHER, DO YOU WANT ANY WASHING DONE?

When George Naldret was seen in the streets of Westminster, it occasioned, as may be imagined, no little surprise. His neighbours supposed him to be on his way to the other end of the world, and they rather resented his appearance among them, for he had in a certain measure deceived them. He had promised to write to some, to tell them how affairs were over the water; and two or three courageous ones had already made up their minds that if George sent home a good account of things they would sell every stick they had, and make for a land where a brighter future awaited them than they could look forward to here. They would have been satisfied if George had given them an explanation; but this he absolutely refused to do. 'I have altered my mind,' was all they could get from him. 'I may do that if I like, I suppose, and if it don't hurt you.' But some decided that it did hurt them; and when they continued to press him for farther particulars, he desired them to mind their own business; and as this was the most difficult task he could set them, it made matters worse. George was too delicate-minded and too honourable to introduce Bessie's name; and when the inquisitive ones mentioned it he turned upon them savagely. It caused quite a commotion in the neighbourhood.

On the first day Mrs. Naldret had tried to persuade George to keep indoors and not show himself. But he said, 'No, mother; it will be better for me to show my face at once, and not shirk the thing.' And his father backed him up in his resolution. When he resolved upon this, he went to his bedroom and locked himself in, and, after much sad communing, decided that the first thing it was incumbent on him to do was to go to Bessie and release her from her promise. Thus it was that he met young Mr. Million in the parlour of the old grocer's shop, where he had spent so many happy hours. He had decided in his mind what to say. He would be gentle and firm with Bessie. And as he walked to old Ben Sparrow's shop, disregarding the looks of astonishment which his first appearance in the streets occasioned, he rehearsed in his mind the exact words he would speak to her. But when he arrived there, and saw Mr. Million smilingly holding her hand, and saw the bunch of rare flowers on the table, he received such a shock that his plans were instantly swept away, and he spoke out of the bitterness of his heart.

How the news got about was a mystery, and how it grew into exaggerated and monstrous forms was a greater mystery still. Who has ever traced to its source the torrent of exciting rumour which, like a rush of waters, flows and swells, unlocking vivid imagination in its course, until reason and fact are lost in the whirl? All sorts of things were said. George was frightened of the water; he was in debt; he had done something wrong at the shop he had been working for, and was not allowed to leave without clearing it up; these, and a hundred other things, were said and commented upon. The peculiarity of this kind of rumour is, that directly a new theory is started it is accepted as a fact, and is taken to pieces and discussed in all its bearings. George was a fruitful theme with the neighbours on that Saturday night and on the following day; they served him up hot (like a new and appetising dish), and so seasoned him and spiced him and garnished him, that it would have made his blood tingle to have known. But he did not know, and did not even suspect. To be sure, when Jim Naldret went to the baker's on the Sunday for his baked shoulder of mutton and potatoes, he heard some remarks which did not please him; but he did not say a word to George, and the mother, father, and son spent a sad and quiet evening together, and went to bed earlier than usual.

On the Monday, the startling intelligence was bandied from one to another that George Naldret and Bessie Sparrow had broken with each other. Bessie had turned him off, it was said; they had had a dreadful quarrel the night before he was to start for Liverpool. But it is not necessary here to set down all the reasons that were given for the breaking of the engagement. Some of them were bad, and all were false. But in the course of the day a little rill was started, which grew and grew, and swelled and swelled, until it swallowed up all the other waters. A rod was thrown down, which becoming instantly quick with life, turned into a serpent, and swallowed all the other serpents. It was said that Bessie had discovered that George had another sweetheart-who she was, where she lived, and how it had been kept secret during all this time, were matters of no importance; but it was first whispered, then spoken aloud and commented on, that this sweetheart should have been something more than a sweetheart to George-she should have been his wife. The reason why she should have been his wife was that George was a father. But where was the child? Rumour decided this instantaneously. The child was no other than our poor little Tottie; and George had basely deceived old Ben Sparrow and Bessie into taking care of the little one by a clever and wicked story that Tottie was an orphan, without a friend in the world. Here was food for the gossippers! How this hot dish was served up, and spiced and seasoned!

It reached George's ears, and he wrote to Ben Sparrow. He said that he had heard some rumours affecting his character; he did not mention what these rumours were, but he said they were wicked lies-wicked, wicked lies, he repeated in his letter. The rumours he referred to may have reached Mr. Sparrow, and might affect the happiness of a poor innocent child-a child innocent as he was himself. If so, he was ready to take the little one from Mr. Sparrow's charge. He said no more, concluding here, almost abruptly. A reply soon came. Ben Sparrow had heard the rumours, and was shocked at them; he believed what George said in his letter. But the child, said old Ben, was a comfort to them: by 'them' he meant himself and Bessie, but he did not mention Bessie's name: it formed the principal part of their happiness now in their little home, and to part with her would cause 'them' great grief and pain. His letter, also, was short and to the point. And so our little Tottie remained with old Ben Sparrow and Bessie, and was even more tenderly cared for than she had been before. Somehow or other, these letters were a great consolation to George and Bessie.

But the gossippers and rumourmongers would not let them alone. They said that George's other sweetheart had declared if he went away she would go with him, and would follow him all over the world. Bessie then was brought in. She had another lover also, a lover she liked better than George. Who should it be but young Mr. Million? He gave her those pretty ear-rings, of course, and he was seen to go into old Ben's shop with beautiful flowers in his hands, and come away without them. Ben Sparrow encouraged him, too. O, it was plain to see what was going on! So both George and Bessie were condemned, and kind gossippers did what they could to keep them from ever coming together again.

George and young Mr. Million met. Young Mr. Million was alone; George had his father with him. The sight of the idle, well-dressed, smiling young dog made George furious. He left his father, and walked swiftly up to his enemy. A policeman was near. Young Mr. Million beckoned to him, and the limb of the law touched his helmet, and came close. Jim Naldret saw the position of affairs in a moment. 'Come along, George,' he said, and linking his arm in that of his son, almost dragged him away. When they reached home, Mrs. Naldret made George promise not to molest young Mr. Million, not even to speak to him. 'No good can come of it, my dear boy,' she said; 'let the scum be! Don't get yourself into trouble for him; he's not worth it. He'll meet with his deserts one day!'

Time passed, and the world went on as usual. George got work at his old shop, and worked hard through the ensuing spring and summer. At that time, murmurs of discontent began to be heard among the builders and carpenters-not only among them, but among the workers in nearly every other trade as well. Labour was on the strike all over the country, and one trade quickly followed the example of another. Jim himself began to murmur; he wanted to know what he was to do when he got old, and couldn't work-for he had found it impossible to put by money for a rainy day.

'Go to the workhouse, I suppose,' he said bitterly.

But Mrs. Naldret said, 'Let be, Jim, let be; what's the use of looking forward? We should be happy enough as it is if it wasn't for George's misfortune. Poor lad! all the salt seems to have gone out of his life.'

In the summer the crisis occurred in the trade; and Jim Naldret came home one day with his hands in his pockets, and said,

'Well, mother, do you want any washing done? I'm on strike.'

'Jim! Jim!' cried Mrs. Naldret 'What have you done? Remember Saul Fielding.'

'Saul Fielding wasn't so wrong, after all,' said Jim; 'I was a bit too hard on him. I can't help myself, mother. I'm obliged to turn out with the others.'

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