"My precious," said Mitty, sobbing, "don't you fret yourself! I can make a many things besides them; Albert puddings and moulds, and them little cheese straws, and a sight of things. There's a deal of work in my old hands yet. It's only the spring as has took the starch out of me. I always feel a sinking in the spring. Lord, my darling, the times and times again I've been settin' here just dithering with a mossel of crotchet, or idling over a bit of reading, and wishing you was having a set of nightshirts to make!" Love had found out the way. John had appealed to the right instinct. Mitty was already busying herself with a future in which she should minister to her child's comfort, and John saw, with a relief that was half a pang, that the calamity of his life held hardly any place in the heart that loved him so much. "I've a sight of things," continued Mitty, wiping her eyes. "Books and pictures and cushions put away. My precious shall not go short. And there's two pair of linen sheets as I bought with my own money, and piller-slips to match, and six silver teaspoons and one dessert. My lamb shall have things comfortable about him." She fell to communing with herself. John did not speak. "I'll leave my places tidy," said Mitty. "Tidy I didn't find 'em, but tidy I'll leave 'em. I can't go till after the spring cleaning, Master John. I'll never trust that Fanny to do the scrubbing unless I'm behind her. I caught her washing round the mats instead of under only last week." John felt unable to enter into the question of the spring cleaning. There was another silence. At last Mitty said defiantly, "And I shall take your morroccy shoes, and your little chair as I give you myself. I don't care what anybody says, I shall take 'em. And the old horse and the Noey's ark." "It will be all right," said John, getting slowly to his feet. "Nobody will want to have them, or anything of mine;" and he kissed her, and went out. He went to the library and sat down by the fire. The resolution and aspiration of a few hours ago--where were they now? He felt broken in body and soul. Lindo came in, nibbled John's elbow, and scrutinized the fire. John scratched him absently on the top of his back between the tufts. "Lindo," he said, "the world is a hard place to live in." But Lindo, bulging with an unusual allowance of tea-cake, and winnowing the air with an appreciative hind leg, did not think so. CHAPTER IX. "Et souvent au moment ou l'on croyait tenir Une esperance, on voit que c'est un souvenir." VICTOR HUGO.