‘There, my dear! You must take good care of it, and never give it away for love or money. Don’t you open it--there’s a good boy, till you’re a man like your father. He _was_ a man! He gave it to me the day we were married, for he had nothing else, he said, to offer me. But I would not take it, my dear. I liked better to see him with it than have it myself. And when he left me, I kept it for you. But you must take care of it, you know.’ ‘Oh, thank you, grannie!’ I cried, in an agony of pleasure. ‘I _will_ take care of it--indeed I will. Is it a real watch, grannie--as real as uncle’s?’ ‘It’s worth ten of your uncle’s, my dear. Don’t you show it him, though. He might take that away too. Your uncle’s a very good man, my dear, but you mustn’t mind everything he says to you. He forgets things. I never forget anything. I have plenty of time to think about things. I never forget.’ ‘Will it go, grannie?’ I asked, for my uncle was a much less interesting subject than the watch. ‘It won’t go without being wound up; but you might break it. Besides, it may want cleaning. It’s several years since it was cleaned last. Where will you put it now?’ ‘Oh! I know where to hide it safe enough, grannie,’ I exclaimed. ‘I’ll take care of it. You needn’t be afraid, grannie.’ The old lady turned, and with difficulty tottered to her seat. I remained where I was, fixed in contemplation of my treasure. She called me. I went and stood by her knee. ‘My child, there is something I want very much to tell you, but you know old people forget things--’ ‘But you said just now that you never forgot anything, grannie.’ ‘No more I do, my dear; only I can’t always lay my hands upon a thing when I want it.’ ‘It was about the sword, grannie,’ I said, thinking to refresh her memory. ‘No, my dear; I don’t think it was about the sword exactly--though that had something to do with it. I shall remember it all by-and-by. It will come again. And so must you, my dear. Don’t leave your old mother so long alone. It’s weary, weary work, waiting.’ ‘Indeed I won’t, grannie,’ I said. ‘I will come the very first time I can. Only I mustn’t let auntie see me, you know.--You don’t want to be buried now, do you, grannie?’ I added; for I had begun to love her, and the love had cast out the fear, and I did not want her to wish to be buried. ‘I am very, very old; much too old to live, my dear. But I must do you justice before I can go to my grave. _Now_ I know what I wanted to say. It’s gone again. Oh dear! Oh dear! If I had you in the middle of the night, when everything comes back as if it had been only yesterday, I could tell you all about it from beginning to end, with all the ins and outs of it. But I can’t now--I can’t now.’ She moaned and rocked herself to and fro. ‘Never mind, grannie,’ I said cheerfully, for I was happy enough for all eternity with my gold watch; ‘I will come and see you again as soon as ever I can.’ And I kissed her on the white cheek.