It was in the same place many, many years before that he had essayed the first halting steps of babyhood, and she well remembered it. She recalled the exact spot where his mother had stood with her arms outstretched, her face alight with pride and affection, breathlessly intent upon every movement of the tiny swaying form setting out on its first journey. Such a short journey, with every obstacle removed that might hinder the safe passage of those unsteady feet. How many mothers have yearned to make as free from peril that longer journey along the road of life which awaits their little one! Old Jane Goodman could see again the pretty child with the sunlight streaming from the mullioned windows on to his sunny curls--she could hear the baby laughter and the cry of triumph which meant the arrival into the safe refuge of his mother's arms. There was no detail of the occurrence that faithful heart could not recall. Time had no power to dull the recollection which love's alchemy kept clear and bright. Was he not still her boy--her lamb--for all her fourscore years and all the sorrow they had both known between that day and this? And the old walls which had rung to the sound of Francis' baby merriment echoed to his laughter again now. He was in the highest spirits, making a jest of everything, and scorning the idea of any need for caution. Robert Gale called him to order at last, and threatened instant return if he would not be quiet. "Don't fuss, man," was the gay rejoinder. "Did ever you see so long a face, Phil? The truth is that his job is over and he knows it. The prisoner is free, and the jailer in consequence out of employment. Disguise your feelings, Rob. I am sorry for you, but I don't intend to be ill again even for your sake. Go and try your pills and potions on some other unfortunate. I can't see nurse's face because she is behind me, but I have no doubt she is looking just as glum. You can't think how funny it feels to get out of those four walls and see something new. Hullo! What's that?" They had paused for a moment at the head of the staircase, and his attention had been attracted by a small drawing hanging rather low down on the wall, close at hand. He stepped nearer to examine it. It was a clever sketch in water-colour by a modern artist, and the draughtsmanship was superb. The subject was an old man with a long straggling beard and wearing tattered clothes, surrounded by a group of villagers and children. The creator had allowed his fancy full play, and the result, without being in any way a caricature, was full of a most merry and whimsical humour; and yet, by some stroke of his genius he had made the scene infinitely pathetic, and the central figure tragic and dignified for all his ragged attire. On the gold frame were printed the words "Rip van Winkle."