Philip regained his home, and found Sidney stationed at the window alone, and with wistful eyes noting the flight of the grey moths as they darted to and fro, across the dull shrubs that, variegated with lines for washing, adorned the plot of ground which the landlady called a garden. The elder brother had returned at an earlier hour than usual, and Sidney did not at first perceive him enter. When he did he clapped his hands, and ran to him. "This is so good in you, Philip. I have been so dull; you will come and play now?" "With all my heart--where shall we play?" said Philip, with a cheerful smile. "Oh, in the garden!--it's such a nice time for hide and seek." "But is it not chill and damp for you?" said Philip. "There now; you are always making excuses. I see you don't like it. I have no heart to play now." Sidney seated himself and pouted. "Poor Sidney! you must be dull without me. Yes, let us play; but put on this handkerchief;" and Philip took off his own cravat and tied it round his brother's neck, and kissed him. Sidney, whose anger seldom lasted long, was reconciled; and they went into the garden to play. It was a little spot, screened by an old moss- grown paling, from the neighbouring garden on the one side and a lane on the other. They played with great glee till the night grew darker and the dews heavier. "This must be the last time," cried Philip. "It is my turn to hide." "Very well! Now, then." Philip secreted himself behind a poplar; and as Sidney searched for him, and Philip stole round and round the tree, the latter, happening to look across the paling, saw the dim outline of a man's figure in the lane, who appeared watching them. A thrill shot across his breast. These Beauforts, associated in his thoughts with every evil omen and augury, had they set a spy upon his movements? He remained erect and gazing at the form, when Sidney discovered, and ran up to him, with his noisy laugh. As the child clung to him, shouting with gladness, Philip, unheeding his playmate, called aloud and imperiously to the stranger-- "What are you gaping at? Why do you stand watching us?" The man muttered something, moved on, and disappeared. "I hope there are no thieves here! I am so much afraid of thieves," said Sidney, tremulously. The fear grated on Philip's heart. Had he not himself, perhaps, been judged and treated as a thief? He said nothing, but drew his brother within; and there, in their little room, by the one poor candle, it was touching and beautiful to see these boys--the tender patience of the elder lending itself to every whim of the younger--now building houses with cards--now telling stories of fairy and knight-errant--the sprightliest he could remember or invent. At length, as all was over, and Sidney was undressing for the night, Philip, standing apart, said to him, in a mournful voice:-- "Are you sad now, Sidney?" "No! not when you are with me--but that is so seldom."