In a few moments, however, the door of the closet opened and the child came back, her light-brown hair hanging loose about her neck, and her face flushed with the haste she had made to return. She at once set about preparing supper. The Old Gentleman was surprised to see that everything was done by the child, and that there appeared to be no other persons in the house. When she left the room for a moment he expressed his surprise, and the old man replied that there were few grown persons as careful and useful as she. "It always grieves me," said the visitor, "to see children entering on the duties of life when they are scarcely more than infants." "It will do her no harm," said the old man, looking steadily at his guest. "The children of the poor know but few pleasures. Even the cheap delights of childhood must be bought and paid for." "But—forgive me for saying this—you are surely not so very poor," said the Old Gentleman. "She is not my child, sir," returned the old man. "Her mother was my daughter, and she was poor. I save nothing, not a penny, though I live as you see; but"—he leaned forward to whisper—"she shall be rich one of these days and a fine lady. Don’t you think ill of me because I use her help. She gives it cheerfully, as you see, and it would break her heart if she knew that I suffered anybody else to do for me what her own little hands can do so well." At this moment the child again returned, and the old man, motioning his visitor to come to the table, broke off and said no more. They had scarcely begun their repast when there was a knock at the door, and Nell, bursting into a hearty laugh, said it was no doubt dear old Kit come back at last. "Foolish Nell," said her grandfather, fondling with her hair. "She always laughs at poor Kit." Then he took up a candle, and went to open the door. When he came back Kit was at his heels. Kit was a shock-headed, clumsy lad, with a very wide mouth, very red cheeks, a turned-up nose, and a very comical look on his face. He at once carried a large slice of bread and meat into a corner, and began to eat greedily. "Ah!" said the old man, turning to his guest with a sigh, as if he had spoken to him at that very moment, "you don’t know what you say when you tell me that I don’t consider her." "You must not think too much of what I said, my friend," said the other. "No," returned the old man thoughtfully, "no.—Come hither, Nell." The little girl hastened from her seat, and put her arm round his neck. "Do I love thee, Nell?" said he. "Say, do I love thee, Nell, or no?" The child only answered by her caresses, and laid her head upon his breast. "Why dost thou sob?" said the grandfather, pressing her closer to him. "Is it because thou know’st that I love thee, and dost not like that I should seem to doubt it? Well, well; then let us say I love thee dearly." "Indeed, indeed you do," replied the child. "Kit knows you do."