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“I beg your pardon, sir–that was my fault,” he said, with so quaint an imitation of an old person that the General could not help smiling. With a cheery laugh, he tried to rise to his feet, but the bundle was too heavy, and he would not let it go.

The General bent over him and, with an apology, set him on his feet.

“I beg your pardon, sir. That was my fault. That is a pretty big bundle you have.”

“Yes, sir; and I tell you, it is pretty heavy, too,” the manikin said, proudly. “It ‘s a Christmas gift.” He started on, and the General turned with him.

“A Christmas gift! It must be a fine one. Who gave it to you?” demanded the General, with a smile at the little fellow’s confidence.

“It is a fine one! Did n’t anybody give it to me. We ‘re giving it to somebody.”

“Oh! You are? To whom?”

“I ‘ll tell you; but you must promise not to tell.”

“I promise I will not tell a soul. I cross my heart.”

He made a sign as he remembered he used to do in his boyhood.

The boy looked up at him doubtfully with a shade of disapproval.

“My grandfather says that you must not cross your heart–‘t a gentleman’s word is enough,” he said, quaintly.

“Oh, he does? Well, I give my word.”

“Well–” He glanced around to see that no one was listening, and sidling a little nearer, lowered his voice: “It ‘s a great-coat for grandfather!”

“A great-coat! That’s famous!” exclaimed the General.

“Yes, is n’t it? You see–he ‘s mighty old and he ‘s got a bad cough–he caught it in the army, and I have to take care of him. Don’t you think that’s right?”

“Of course, I do,” said the General, envying one grandfather.

“That’s what I tell him. So mamma and I have bought this for him.”

“He must be a proud grandfather,” said the General, with envy biting deeper at his heart.

“I have another grandfather; but I don’t like him,” continued the little fellow.

“I am sorry for that,” said the General, sincerely. “Why is that?”

“He was mean to my father, and he is mean to my mother.” His voice conveyed a sudden bitterness.

“Oh!”

“Mamma says I must like him; but I do not. I just can’t. You would not like a man who was mean to your mother, would you!”

“I would not,” declared the General, truthfully.

“And I am not going to like him,” asserted the boy, with firmness.

The General suddenly pitied one grandfather.

They had come to a well-lighted corner, and as the boy lifted his face, the light fell on it. Something about the bright, sturdy countenance with its frank, dark eyes and brown hair suddenly sent the General back thirty years to a strip of meadow on which two children were playing: one a dark-eyed boy as sturdy as this one. It was like an arrow in his heart. “With a gasp he came back to the present. His thoughts pursued him even here.

“What is your name?” he asked as he was feeling in his pocket for a coin.

“Oliver Drayton Hampden, sir.”

The words were perfectly clear.

The General’s heart stopped beating and then gave a bound. The skies suddenly opened for him and then shut up again.

His exclamation brought the child to a stop and he glanced up at him in vague wonder. The General stooped and gazed at him searchingly, almost fiercely. The next second he had pounced upon him and lifted him in his arms while the bundle fell to the pavement.

“My boy! I am your grandfather,” he cried, kissing him violently. “I am your grandfather Hampden.”

The child was lost in amazement for a moment, and then, putting his hands against the General’s face, he pushed him slowly away.

“Put me down, please,” he said, with that gravity which in a child means so much.

General Hampden set him down on the pavement. The boy looked at him searchingly for a second, and then turned in silence and lifted his bundle. The General’s face wore a puzzled look–he had solved many problems, but he had never had one more difficult than this. His heart yearned toward the child, and he knew that on his own wisdom at that moment might depend his future happiness. On his next words might hang for him life or death. The expression on the boy’s face, and the very set of his little back as he sturdily tugged at his burden, recalled his father, and with it the General recognized the obstinacy which he knew lurked in the Hampden blood, which had once been his pride.