For all that, she found time to have a quiet chat with Turk, and when he went away she called me into the shop, and saying she had something very particular to whisper to me, kissed me instead of making any communication; by which sign I knew that Turk had told her of the money I had lent him. She shut up the shop earlier than usual, and we had supper together. I had not had a meal in the little parlour for many months, and my mind was filled with the memorable incidents in my life with which the room was connected. It was just such a night as that on which Jessie had tapped at the door, years ago, when uncle Bryan was asleep, and my mother and I were sitting quietly together. I remembered the story I was reading, _Picciola_, and during a silence I raised my head to the door, with something of expectation in my mind. I dismissed the fancy instantly, but it was not unpleasant to me to think of what had occurred on that night--the conversation in the shop between Jessie and my mother, the awaking of uncle Bryan, and the first passage-at-arms between the child and the old man. My mother must have divined the current in which my thoughts were running, for she took my hand under the table, and held it fondly in hers. 'I can't help liking the little room after all, mother,' I said. CHAPTER XLVI. A STRANGE DREAM. My mother and I stopped up talking until very late on this night. The future was not mentioned; all our talk was of the past. My mother recalled the reminiscences of her younger days, and dwelt upon them with affection. She drew pictures of her home when she was a girl, and told me a great deal concerning her parents, and especially concerning my grandmother, of whom my own impressions were so vivid. As though she were living her life over again, she travelled from those days gradually to the day upon which she first saw my father, and in tender tones related many incidents of their courtship which I had never before heard. She required a great deal of coaxing before she would speak of her courting days, but I led her on artfully from one thing to another, and listened to her with delight. On such occasions as this my mother seemed to grow twenty years younger; her face grew fresher, rounder, and in her eyes the soft light of youth lived again. Then came the description of her wedding-day, and she laughed or grew pensive as she recalled the names of those who were present, stopping occasionally, until I said, 'Yes, mother, and then,'--upon which she took up my words, saying, 'And then, my dear,'--and proceeded with her descriptions. When, in the course of her narration, I came into the world, I was able to take a larger share in the conversation, and I added my experience to hers. We were by turns grave and merry, according to the nature of our reminiscences. My grandmother's peculiarities, her death, the search for the long stocking, and the picture of Snaggletooth ripping open the beds and the armchairs, and