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“‘It is not your fault,’ he began; ‘it is not your fault, godfather; but this drive has been altogether wrong. Let us turn back and begin again. Let us all get in afresh and begin again.’

“‘But what a squeeze with all the brats!’ said Godfather Time, ironically.

“‘We should be so happy,’ murmured Melchior, humbly; ‘and it is very cold and chilly; we should keep each other warm.’

“‘You have the tiger-skin rug and the opera-glass, you know,’ said Time.

“‘Ah, do not speak of me!” cried Melchior, earnestly. ‘I am thinking of them. There is plenty of room; the little one can sit on my knee; and we shall be so happy. The truth is, godfather, that I have been wrong. I have gone the wrong way to work. A little more love, and kindness, and forbearance might have kept my sisters with us, might have led the little one to better tastes and pleasures, and have taught the other by experience the truth of the faith and hope and love which he now reviles. Oh, I have sinned! I have sinned! Let us turn back, Godfather Time, and begin again. And oh! drive very slowly, for partings come only too soon.’

“‘I am sorry,’ said the old man in the same bitter tone as before, ‘to disappoint your rather unreasonable wishes. What you say is admirably true, with this misfortune, that your good intentions are too late. Like the rest of the world, you are ready to seize the opportunity when it is past. You should have been kind then. You should have advised then. You should have yielded then. You should have loved your brothers and sisters while you had them. It is too late now.’

“With this he drove on, and spoke no more, and poor Melchior stared sadly out of the window. As he was gazing at the crowd, he suddenly saw the dog-cart, in which were his brother and his wretched companions. Oh, how old and worn he looked! and how ragged his clothes were! The men seemed to be trying to persuade him to do something that he did not like, and they began to quarrel; but in the midst of the dispute he turned his head, and caught sight of the old coach; and Melchior, seeing this, waved his hands, and beckoned with all his might. The brother seemed doubtful; but Melchior waved harder, and (was it fancy?) Time seemed to go slower. The brother made up his mind; he turned and jumped from the dog-cart as he had jumped from the old coach long ago, and, ducking in and out among the horses and carriages, ran for his life. The men came after him; but he ran like the wind–pant, pant, nearer, nearer; at last the coach was reached, and Melchior seized the prodigal by his rags and dragged him in.

“‘Oh, thank God, I have got you safe, my brother!’

“But what a brother! with wasted body and sunken eyes; with the old curly hair turned to matted locks, that clung faster to his face than the rags did to his trembling limbs; what a sight for the opera-glasses of the crowd! Yet poor Hop-o’-my-thumb was on the front seat at last, with Melchior kneeling at his feet, and fondly stroking the head that rested against him.

“‘Has powder come into fashion, brother?’ he said. ‘Your hair is streaked with white.’

“‘If it has,’ said the other, laughing, ‘your barber is better than mine, Melchior, for your head is as white as snow.’

“‘Is it possible? are we so old? has Time gone so very fast? But what are you staring at through the window? I shall be jealous of that crowd, brother.’

“‘I am not looking at the crowd,’ said the prodigal in a low voice; ‘but I see—-‘

“‘You see what?’ said Melchior.

“‘A figure in a cloak, gliding in and out—-‘

“Melchior sprang up in horror. ‘No! no!’ he cried, hoarsely. ‘No! surely no!’