Tom made a face, and looked at himself as if he did not much like the compliment, though he might have felt he deserved it. I should have caught up the little fellow and kissed him heartily, for I guessed that he must be one of my dear sister Mary's children, and the first kindred thing I had seen for many a long year. The cry brought out a neat, trim old lady, in a mob cap. She gave me an inquiring glance through her spectacles, and then, hurrying forward, caught me in her arms and kissed me again and again on both cheeks in spite of my huge beard and whiskers. "My boy, my boy! you've came back at last to your old father and mother, bless Heaven far it?" she exclaimed, holding me at arms' length to examine my features, and then drawing me to her again. Tom pulled off his hat, and scraped his feet, and hitched up his trousers, and looked as if he expected to receive a similar welcome. Poor fellow! his heart yearned, I dare say, to have the arms of his own old mother round his neck. My mother looked at him to inquire who he was, and when I told her, an expression of sorrow crossed over her features, and I too truly guessed that she had some sad tidings for him. She, however, summoned a maid-servant, to whom she whispered a few words, and then told her to take him into the kitchen and make him comfortable. My father was out, but while I was sitting in the parlour I heard him come in. My mother went out to tell him that I had arrived, and he came hurrying in with steps far more tottering than was formerly his wont. He wrung my hand with both of his for more than a minute. From the tremulous motion of his fingers, and the tone of his voice and his general appearance, with sorrow I observed that he was much broken and aged. Still his playful humour had not deserted him, and he soon began to amuse himself by cutting jokes on my swarthy features and unshorn visage. Mary's little boy, Jack, in a very short time, became perfectly reconciled to my looks, and came and sat on my knee and let me dance him and ride him, and listened eagerly to the songs I sang him and the stories I told. Though I had not had a child in my hands for I don't know how many years, it all came naturally, and the little chap and I became great friends. Only my sister Jane, the one just above me in age, was at home. All my brothers were scattered about, some in England, others in different parts of the world seeking their fortunes. I was in a great hurry to talk to Jane about Madeline. I knew that she would sympathise with me. I had not written home a word about her, for I knew that it would never do to say that I had fallen in love with the daughter of a rebel, as my feelings and motives and reasons would not fail to be misunderstood. I thought that I would first interest Jane, and then that we could win over my mother to listen to what we had to say, and then that my father would easily be brought round. Of course I knew