The following week Alice and her children took up their abode at her old home. Alice was pale and nervous at first, but soon regained her self-possession. The farmer was almost boisterous in his welcome. After tea Mrs Bolt, with a wink at her daughter, installed the little boy in the chair before referred to, at his grandfather’s side, an arrangement in which the latter acquiesced silently, yet with evident pleasure. Abel watched him with round inquisitive eyes while he filled and lit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair, crossed his legs luxuriously. Presently, possessing himself of a bit of stick which lay beside the hearth, the child wedged it in a corner of his own small mouth, and trotting back to his chair, settled himself in it, in as close an imitation of his grandfather’s attitude as the differences of age and size, and a slight difficulty in distinguishing his right leg from his left, would admit of. Abel the elder stared for a moment, and then, realising the state of affairs, nudged his wife with a delighted chuckle. “Look at that,” he exclaimed. “He be a sharp little chap if ever there was one. Ye shall have a better pipe nor that to smoke, sonny.” The farmer was as good as his word, and on the next day purchased a supply of sugar-sticks, one of which he gravely handed to his grandson every evening before lighting his own pipe. Whether it was because the little fellow was won over by this practical proof of consideration and regard, or whether the affinity which the women-folk were so fond of talking about, really existed, it is certain that before the Blanchard family were a week in the house, the two Abels were practically inseparable. Whether toddling along a furrow in his grandfather’s wake, or riding one of the farm horses, or perched on top of a pile of mangolds, the child was his grandfather’s constant companion. Alice almost insensibly fell back into the ways of her girlhood, and, as the days passed, her youth itself seemed to return to her. She grew plump and rosy, sang as she went about her work, played with her little ones as though she were a child herself. Had it not been for the presence of the children, indeed, Mrs Bolt often declared she could have fancied old times were back again, and their maid had never left them. The good food, the freedom from petty anxieties, had no doubt much to do with this happy change, but it was chiefly brought about by the new hope in her heart which grew and brightened day by day.