to him.  He did not object to the dry weather and clean streets as he had done when his living depended upon his crossing; on the contrary, he enjoyed the sunshine, and the crowds of gaily-dressed people, for he could hold up his head amongst them, and no longer went prowling about in the gutters searching after bits of orange-peel.  He kicked them into the gutters instead, mindful of that accident which had befallen him, but which turned out so full of good for him.

[Illustration:  Dolly’s monthly Register.]

But, if there had been any eye to see it, a very slow, and very sad change was creeping over Dolly; so slowly indeed, that perhaps none but her mother’s eye could have seen it at first.  On the first of every month, which old Oliver knew by the magazines coming in, he marked how much his little love had grown by placing her against the side-post of the door, and making a thick pencil line where her curly head reached to.  He looked at this record often, smiling at the rate his little woman was growing taller; but it was really no wonder that his dim eyes, loving as they were, never saw how the rosy colour was dying away out of her cheeks, as gradually as the red glow fades away in the west after the sun has set, nor how the light grew fainter and fainter in her blue eyes, until they looked at him very heavily from under her drooping eyelids.  The house was too dark for any sight to see very clearly; the full, strong, healthy light of the sun, could not find its way into it, and day after day Dolly became more like one of those plants growing in shady places, which live and shoot up, but only put out pale and sickly leaves, and feeble buds.  One by one, and by little and little, with degrees as small as her own tiny footsteps, she lost all her merry ways, dropping them, here one and there another, upon the path she was silently treading; as little children let fall the flowers they have gathered in the meadows, along their road homewards.  Yet all the time old Oliver was loving and cherishing her as the dearest of all treasures, second only to the Master whom he loved so fully; but he never discovered that there was any change in her.  Dolly fell into very quiet ways, and would sit still for hours together, her arm around Beppo, and her sweet, patient little face, which was growing thin and hollow, turned towards the flickering light of the fire, while Oliver pottered toilsomely about his house, forgetting many things, but always ready with a smile and a fond word for his grand-daughter.

Just as Oliver was too old to feel any anxiety about Dolly, so Tony was too young, and knew too little of sickness and death.  Moreover, when he came home in the evening, full of the business of the day, with a number of stories to tell of what had happened to him, and what he had seen, Dolly was always more lively, and had a feverish colour on her face, and a brilliant light in her eyes.  He seemed to bring life and strength with him, and she liked him to nurse her on his knee, which did not grow tired and stiff like her grandfather’s.  How should Tony detect anything amiss with her?  She never complained of feeling any pain, and he was glad for her to be very quiet and still while he was busy with his lessons.