The afternoon had passed by, and the evening was coming on. Already the sun had sunk low in the sky, and the long shadows fell from the church-tower and the headstones upon the graveyard where his old friend, the rector, would soon be lying quietly, after the sunset of his life's long day. It was an hour when Christmas loved to linger in his garden, strolling slowly along the walks, and watching his flowers grow dim in the darkening twilight. The little river was singing the same tune it sang in his boyhood, and the blackbirds were whistling from the hedges, as if the years had not touched them as they had touched him. For, though he was a strong man yet, his hair was growing grey; and he knew he was going the down-hill path of life to the narrow valley, soft and dim only for some, but of utter blackness to others. The little clouds hastening towards the west gave a sweet promise of a splendid sunset; and Christmas loved to see both sunset and sunrise. He sauntered leisurely through his orchard, where the commoner fruit was ripening, to the well-fenced-in garden of his delight. There was almost priceless fruit growing there, which he watched with a jealous eye. Not a month ago he had caught a village urchin in his orchard, and, in spite of all entreaties and beseechings, he had shut him up in the crib, and taken him before the magistrate the next morning, and heard him sentenced to three weeks' imprisonment in jail. That offence was committed in his orchard; but to-day, as he drew near to his garden, he could hear a sharp snapping of twigs, and the patter of fruit falling to the ground. He crept cautiously and noiselessly forward, and carefully lifted his head just above the fence. There was a thief, and that thief was Easter's boy, his own grandson! All the passion of his mingled love and hatred flamed up in Christmas Williams' heart. This merry, ragged, brown-faced, handsome lad was his own flesh and blood, and seemed to have a natural right to be there. He watched Chrissie swing himself down from the tree, and strip off his tattered jacket, and pile up the precious fruit in it. But as the boy caught sight of his grandfather's face, gazing at him over the fence, his heart stood still for very fear, and his knees knocked together. Yet he lifted up his eyes to Christmas with a wistful, speechless prayer in them. Chrissie could not utter a word, to say how the lad just returned from jail had lifted him over the fence, telling him the fruit was all his own, or would be some day. When he met his grandfather's stern frown and awful silence, his little heart died within him. [Illustration: HE MET HIS GRANDFATHER'S STERN FROWN.] "Grandfather!" he cried at last, dropping his stolen load, and bursting into tears.