"I don't know my way to the place." "If you'd do me the honour, sir, to take my arm, I would lead you to the house." "It's hard--cruel hard on an old bachelor. Must it be twins? It's a rather large order." "It really must, sir." Then I saw David lend his arm to his former master and conduct him out of the churchyard, across the street, into the house of Seth Bowker, the shoemaker. I was so interested in the fate of my old friend, and so curious as to the result, that I followed, and went into the cobbler's house. I found myself in the little room on the ground floor. Seth Bowker was sitting over the fire with his face in his hands, swaying himself, and moaning: "Oh dear! dear life! whatever shall I do without her? and she the best woman as breathed, and knew all my little ways." Overhead was a trampling. The doctor and the midwife were with the woman. Seth looked up, and listened. Then he flung himself on his knees at the deal table, and prayed: "Oh, good God in heaven! have pity on me, and spare me my wife. I shall be a lost man without her--and no one to sew on my shirt-buttons!" At the moment I heard a feeble twitter aloft, then it grew in volume, and presently became cries. Seth looked up; his face was bathed in tears. Still that strange sound like the chirping of sparrows. He rose to his feet and made for the stairs, and held on to the banister. Forth from the chamber above came the doctor, and leisurely descended the stairs. "Well, Bowker," said he, "I congratulate you; you have two fine boys." "And my Sally--my wife?" "She has pulled through. But really, upon my soul, I did fear for her at one time. But she rallied marvellously." "Can I go up to her?" "In a minute or two, not just now, the babes are being washed." "And my wife will get over it?" "I trust so, Bowker; a new life came into her as she gave birth to twins." "God be praised!" Seth's mouth quivered, all his face worked, and he clasped his hands. Presently the door of the chamber upstairs was opened, the nurse looked down, and said: "Mr. Bowker, you may come up. Your wife wants you. Lawk! you will see the beautifullest twins that ever was." I followed Seth upstairs, and entered the sick-room. It was humble enough, with whitewashed walls, all scrupulously clean. The happy mother lay in the bed, her pale face on the pillow, but the eyes were lighted up with ineffable love and pride. "Kiss them, Bowker," said she, exhibiting at her side two little pink heads, with down on them. But her husband just stooped and pressed his lips to her brow, and after that kissed the tiny morsels at her side. "Ain't they loves!" exclaimed the midwife. But oh! what a rapture of triumph, pity, fervour, love, was in that mother's face, and--the eyes looking on those children were the eyes of Mr. Fothergill. Never had I seen such an expression in them, not even when he had exclaimed "Checkmate" over a game of chess.