But the voice cried: “Mother, mother!” without minding him, though his hair was now quite white, and tears were on his face. Then the mother, who was already drawn into the shade of the dark avenue and moving away with her arms still round his neck, kissed him, and said: “My dearest, I am summoned, and I go!” And she was gone. And the traveller and he were left alone together. And they went on and on together, until they came to very near the end of the wood: so near, that they could see the sunset shining red before them through the trees. Yet, once more, while he broke his way among the branches, the traveller lost his friend. He called and called, but there was no reply, and when he passed out of the wood and saw the peaceful sun going down upon a wide purple prospect, he came to an old man sitting on a fallen tree. So he said to the old man: “What do you do here?” And the old man said with a calm smile: “I am always remembering. Come and remember with me!” So the traveller sat down by the side of that old man, face to face with the serene sunset; and all his friends came softly back and stood around him. The beautiful child, the handsome boy, the young man in love, the father, mother, and children; every one of them was there, and he had lost nothing. So he loved them all, and was kind and forbearing with them all, and was always pleased to watch them all, and they all honored and loved him. And I think the traveller must be yourself, dear grandfather, because this is what you do to us, and what we do to you. THE BOY AT TODGERS’S XVII THE BOY AT TODGERS’S WHEN Mr. Pecksniff and his two daughters came to London, they found their way to Mrs. Todgers’s Boarding House. It was early in the morning and they rang two or three times without making any impression on anything but a dog over the way. At last a chain and some bolts were withdrawn, and a small boy with a large red head, and no nose to speak of, and a pair of huge boots under his arm, appeared. The boy rubbed his nose with the back of his shoe brush and said nothing. “Still abed, my man?” asked Mr. Pecksniff. “Still abed!” replied the boy, “I wish they wos still abed. They’re very noisy abed, all calling for their boots at once. I thought you was the Paper and wondered why you didn’t shove yourself through the grating as usual. What do you want?” The boy was called Bailey, and though he was a little cross when the Pecksniffs came because it was so early in the morning, he was usually the soul of good humor. Indeed, good humor was about the only thing he had, for no one had taken the trouble to teach him good manners.