"Sir," he said in a strange, broken voice, "you ain't jokin' with me, are you?" "I could pay you a pound a week; what do you say?" He tried to speak, but his lips quivered, and he turned his back upon us very suddenly. I tore a page from my pocket-book and scrawled a hasty note to my care-taker. "Here is the address," I said, tapping him on the shoulder. "You will find no difficulty. I will write again to-night. You must of course have money to get there and may need to buy a few necessaries besides; here is your first week's wages in advance," and I thrust a sovereign into his hand. He stared down at it with blinking eyes, shuffling awkwardly with his feet, and at that moment his face seemed very worn, and lined, and his hair very grey, yet I had a feeling that I should not regret my quixotic action in the end. "Sir," he faltered, "sir, do ye mean--?" and stopped. "I mean that to-night 'the bye Jarge' has a chance to make a new beginning, a chance to become the man his father always thought he would be. Of course I may be a fool to trust you. That only time will show; but you see I had a great respect for old Jasper. And now that you have the address you'd better go; stay, though, you must have a hat; folks might wonder--take this," and I handed him my cap. "Sir, I can't thank ye now, I never can. It--it won't come; but--" with a nervous, awkward gesture he caught my hand suddenly pressed it to his lips, and was gone down the lane. Thus it was that old Jasper's "bye Jarge" went out to make a trial of life a second time, and as I watched him striding through the moonlight, his head erect, very different to the shambling creature he had been, it seemed to me that the felon was already ousted by the man. "I 'specks he forgot all 'bout me!" said the Imp disconsolately. "No," I answered, shaking my head; "I don't think he will ever forget you, my Imp." "I 'spose he's awfull' fond of you, Uncle Dick?" "Not that I know of," "Then why did he kiss your hand?" "Oh, well--er--perhaps it is a way he has." "He didn't kiss mine," said the Imp. A door opened and closed very softly, and Lisbeth came towards us down the path, whereupon the Imp immediately "took cover" in the ditch. "He is dead, Dick!" she said as I opened the gate. "He died in his son's arms--the George he was always talking about. And oh, Dick, he died trying to sing 'The British Grenadiers." "Poor old Jasper!" I said. "His son was a convict once, wasn't he?" "Yes." "It was strange that he should come back as he did--just in time; it almost seems like the hand of Providence, doesn't it, Dick?" "Yes." Lisbeth was standing with her elbows upon the gate and her chin in her hands, staring up at the moon, and I saw that her eyes were wet with tears. "Why, where is your cap?" she exclaimed when at last she condescended to look at me. "On the head of an escaped convict," I answered. "Do you mean--" "The 'bye Jarge,'" I nodded. "Oh, Dick!"