"It was long after the change had taken place in Mr Burrows that I came to know so much as I did, and it was during one or other of my pleasant little runs down to his home in Sussex, where he passes all the time that he can persuade himself to steal from the City. "Come, Miss Stoneleigh," he used to say, "have a run down amongst the buttercups and daisies. I'm going to steal three days. Come down with me." "Steal!" I said smiling, "I wonder you don't give up business and live altogether in the country." "Why?" he said wonderingly. "Report says that you are very wealthy." "Report's a stupid old woman!" he said sharply; "and I suppose, if the truth was known, Report was that money-grubbing, tight-fisted old screw--Smith. Confess now: wasn't it?" "Well, yes; I've heard Mr Smith say so, among others," I replied. "Yes, of course," he said sturdily. "But look here, Miss Stoneleigh, you don't think I'm scraping and saving--" "I never said you scrape and save, Mr Burrows," I said; "I always thought you generous to a fault. Why, look at the money you've given me for my poor peo--" "Stuff--nonsense--hosh!" he exclaimed. "There, if you say another word, I'll button up my cheque-book tight, and never give you a farthing again." "I am Silence personified," I exclaimed. "I don't want to go to the City," he exclaimed, taking hold of my sleeve and speaking very earnestly, in his desire that I should not think him mercenary; "but suppose I didn't go on making money, and anything happened to Grantly--how then?" "My dear Mr Burrows," I said, "never let us try to meet troubles half-way." "Yes," he said, "that's all very well, but then look at the ants and bees, you know. You must make preparations for the worst. Grantly's a fine fellow, and makes a lot of money by his pictures; but he don't save, and I've got to think of those two little ones. I say," he cried, the hard look going out of his face to give way to one of bright genuine pleasure, "you must come down. You never saw such a pair of young tyrants in your life. I can't get rid of them. They hang on to me all day long. I have to go up and kiss them in bed, or else they won't go; and I'm woke up every morning by one or the other of them climbing into mine. I tell Cobweb I shall stop away." "And she will not believe it," I said smiling. "Humph! No: I suppose she won't. But, I say; little Cobweb got her tiny arms round my neck the other morning, and her soft little cheek rested up against my rough old phiz, and she says, in her little silvery voice--`Oh! granpa, dear, I do yove oo so!' and then little Frank kicked and screamed to get to me to tell me he loved me too, ever so much. They pretty nearly tear me to pieces." "Poor man!" I said, as I looked at his softened face and kind nature breaking through the hard City crust.