In a few minutes the bell began to toll, the vibration of which alarmed them very much; and Lily begged to go down, and clung to Andrew for support, and entreated the clerk to hold Harry's hand, who was even more frightened than she was. Harry had no idea of what it would be to be so near the great bell when it was tolling. They soon got down to the bell-loft again, as the solemn sound re-echoed around, and they saw the heavy tongue sway to and fro and then strike the side of the bell, which made them tremble all over. With a sigh of relief they alighted at the last step, even the cawing of the jackdaws and the sight of the nests which Andrew was so anxious they should see, failing to have the least interest to them. "Who is the bell tolling for ?" said Andrew. "For poor old Mr. Gambling," replied the sexton. "Oh, really, is he dead?" said both Andrew and Lily in a breath. "I am so sorry. He only finished our little boat a few days ago, and he said then that he should not live long." "I am so sorry!" said Andrew. "I wonder if papa knows it." "Oh, yes, he does, Master Andrew, for he was praying with him till quite late last night, and did not leave him till he was almost gone; and, poor old man, he told your papa when I was there, that he was glad he was going to die first before he left the place, for he should like to be buried by him; and so they are going to hurry on the funeral for Wednesday." "Oh, are they?" said Andrew. "I shall certainly go to the funeral; but I do wish I had seen him again. But papa said I had better not go, as he could not talk much, and his cough was so dreadfully bad." CHAPTER XXIV. FAREWELL TO BRANSWORTH. AND now, for the last time, I hope you will all come with me and have one more peep at Lily and her brothers before they get into the postchaise, which is waiting at the door to take them away for ever from the home where they had been so happy. All their friends have come to bid them adieu-the old, the young, the rich, the poor, the halt, and the blind; for even poor old Johnny Blake has been led by his little grandchild to the parsonage, just to pay his last respects to the family, and to thank them for all their kindness to him; and a handsome piece of plate has been given to Mr. Osborne by his faithful parishioners; and now, at his particular request, they were going to drive quietly away without any further demonstration from the people. But by degrees there appeared at the gate one by one those who had just remembered some last word they wanted to say. There is the dear old clerk, the sexton, and Polly Hopkins, with silly Billy by her side; and at a little distance stands Miss Marson, the grateful schoolmistress, who had seen better days, and who almost worshipped the pastor and his family, and who had come to beg, as a last request, to be allowed to have a copy of his farewell sermon, and who repeatedly de clared she could never "sit under" any other clergyman in their own church. In another group stands poor Ellen (with the new maid by her side), looking pale and sad, with her apron full of little odds and ends which had been given her, and Lily's spoon in her pocket, which she assured her was quite safe, as she had no holes in it. A little apart is Anne, holding Cæsar by the hand for the last time, and sobbing as if her heart would break; and Cæsar pulling at her apron to know what makes her cry, and to ask if any one had hurt her, for he is so excited at the idea of going in the carriage, that he does not realize that he is not coming back again in an hour. And there comes Dick Howard, running as fast as he can, pulling on his coat as he nears the group, for he has just found out that the family were leaving earlier; and he pushes his way through the little crowd and goes up to Mrs. Osborne with his honest sun-brown face, and thanks her for all her kindness to himself and Anne; and he tells her that he will make her a good husband, and that their banns are to be put up on the following Sunday; and that he has made up his mind to go away far from the Shires, up North, where he had heard of some work and a nice little home. "It is time for us to start," says Mrs. Osborne. "Now, children, say good-bye, and jump into the carriage." 66 Good-bye, good-bye!" is heard on all sides; and Andrew hastily climbs up to the box, where he helps to pull up the new maid, who is shy, and nervous, and a little low at going away with strangers herself. And then Mrs. Osborne takes her seat with Cæsar on her knees, and Lily and Harry jump in; but had scarcely seated themselves, when the former exclaimed, "Oh! mamma, please mamma, do wait a minute, I must have one more look at all the rooms; do let me get out of the carriage." Without waiting for an answer, out she scrambled, with Harry after her; but Andrew with his long legs had jumped from the wheel, and was half-way upstairs before they had reached the end of the passage. In and out of every room they ran, Harry bringing up the rear; even in the dreadful dark room with its crumbling floor, they gave a last look; and then opened the nursery cupboard to have a peep at its emptiness; then down the dangerous winding stairs they ran into the dear old garden, to look at the peewit's grave and Dolly's bower. When Lily and Harry began to run up every path in their little gardens for the last time, Andrew left them, being too old for such an amusement. Moreover, he wanted once again to seat himself on his well-beloved fir-tree, which the children seeing scrambled up after him; but they had not an instant to sit down, for their father called to them "to come at once." And for the second time they took their seats, whilst the people who were watching them cried out, "God bless your little hearts," and pressed round the carriage for one more farewell. They were made to start by the postillion giving a little touch to the horses with his spurs, and a little crack with his whip; they then started off, the children waving their hands till they were out of sight. But before they arrived at the toll-gate Mrs. Osborne espied poor old Dame Gathercole toiling along the footpath across a field, frantically waving her hands to the postillion to stop, which Andrew seeing, begged him to do; and panting from the exertion, the poor old woman came up, holding in her hands a curious old plate of |