they had sailed in together to India." Beckey did not know exactly, nor Amy Beckumshire, who was always an eager listener to these stories, whereabouts Australia was, and Webster told them that it was down on the other side of the world, just under their feet.

"Lauks!" the women exclaimed, "why, the folks must stand on their heads there, or at least with their heads downwards;" and it was in vain that he endeavoured to explain to them, by showing them an apple, that if you stick little pegs in it they would all have their heads outwards at least. Beckey could not see this, but she felt very particularly at the apple and the pegs, and she insisted that the Australians must have their heads downwards, because ours always were upwards. It was useless endeavouring to make them understand that anybody's head was always upwards, except when they were in bed; and so Webster told them all about the strange things in Australia. The kangaroos, with tails as big as bedposts, and that could leap across Beckey Barnicott's garden at two leaps. He told them all about the trees that never shed their leaves, but shed their bark instead; about the black swans, and the cherries with stones outside, and possums and flying-squirrels and flying-mice, and a kind of cuckoo that sings at nights instead of days, and of all the gold that lies in the ground, and in the rivers there; and Beckey and Amy wondered that everybody was not as rich as the Queen of England, if they could dig up gold out of the ground, and fish it up out of the brooks. Beckey was proud to think that Luke had seen all this too; and she felt sure that he would manage to bring home a ship-load of gold, for he was, as a lad, as sharp as a needle with two points.

One day old Beckey had a nice jug of curds sent her up from farmer Flamstead's, of Langlee, and she said, "Ah! that is that good Sally Flamstead's doing. She is always very good to me." And she made Amy get some sugar, and they had a delicious dish of cherry-curds, all three of them, under the old elder. "Flamstead!" said Webster, that reminds me that Birchin used to say, "Why, she must be as handsome as Sally Flamstead," when any handsome woman was spoken of. And when I asked him who Sally Flamstead was, he said, "Oh, that he had learned of Luke Barnicott." For, whenever he saw a pretty woman, he was sure to say, "Why, she is almost as handsome as Sally Flamstead." And now, I remember Birchin told me that Barnicott had stated to him often when they were on the night-watch together, quite a romantic story of his falling in love with this Sally Flamstead when he was quite a little boy. He used to go to Flamstead's farm at—at—where did he say? Lang—Lang—Lang—what was it?

"Langlee?" asked old Beckey.

"Langlee! Langlee! ah, that was the name," exclaimed Webster. "He used to go to Langlee, wherever that is."

"Oh," said Beckey, "you may see it as you sit here. There, down the slope, all amongst a mass of apple-trees. You may see the chimneys and the thatch-roof. I can't see them; only in my mind's eye I see them there well enough."

Webster stood up and said, "Yes, he saw the place." Well, Barnicott told Birchin that he used to go there to scare birds off the corn, and to gather stones in spring off the pastures, and to watch young turkeys as they fed in the field, and to fetch and carry in harvest time, and all sort of things of that kind. And there was little Sally Flamstead, just about his own age, something younger; and she Luke thought a regular cherubim. All the ideas of angelic beauty that ever he had he got, he said, by looking at Sally Flamstead. And she was such a good, kind, little thing. You know, Luke used to say, that she was far above a poor lad like me; she was the farmer's only child, and the old man was rich for a farmer; he had flocks of sheep and cattle, and great fat teams, and such corn and hay-stacks, and geese, and turkeys, and fowls, and pigeons. Oh, he seemed to Luke quite a king. Yet little Sally Flamstead took quite a fancy for Luke, and used to give him good advice; for, she said, everybody said he was wild. Luke used to collect nuts and mushrooms for her, and she used to give him ripe cherries and plums, and often she would save her plum-cake and give him. She could always find him, without seeming to seek him, when he was about the yard; for she used to go skipping about to feed the pigeons, and ducks, and to chase round and round with her little dog Tiny. Sometimes when he was going out to scare birds on a very cold day in the wheat fields, she would put some matches in his hat, that he might light a fire; or she would be standing inside of the orchard hedge as he went by, and say, "Luke, look under the bramble-bush by the paddock-gate," and there he would find a good piece of pork-pie, or a little bottle of beer, or something of that sort. Luke would have run his legs off to have obliged little Sally Flamstead, and a regular courtship grew between these children. He used to be sent to Monnycrofts to fetch Sally on an evening when she went to take tea with her Aunt Heritage and her cousins, and Sally, as they walked along, used to tell him wonderful stories about the Babes in the Wood, and Robinson Crusoe, and Luke said that he declared he should like nothing so well as to be on a desolate island, and have Sally there for his man Friday. At length he got so enamoured that he vowed if ever he should become a king, which did not seem at all improbable after the wonderful things that happened in the world, according to what Sally Flamstead told him, he would marry Sally, and that she should be his queen. And Sally said she should like nothing so well. "But, Lord bless you!" Luke used to say, "only to think of my foolishness. Why, Sally Flamstead was far enough above me, and if she's grown up half as handsome as she was then, she's married some great gentleman since then, and rides a coach."

When Webster had finished telling this, old Beckey suddenly started up, laid hold of him, and put her hand on his face and felt down it, and then, as suddenly, she gave a great cry, "It's my Luke! it's Luke! it's Luke!" and she hugged him with a force that he did not think had been in her old arms. The next moment she released her grasp, gave a deep sigh and a sort of groan, and fell in a swoon. Luke—for it was Luke sure enough—caught her up and set her on the bench, and while he held her, he shouted with all his might for Amy. Amy came running, and was greatly frightened; but Luke told her not to be alarmed: she had only fainted, and would come round by and by. He bade her fetch a cup of water, and by the time it came poor old Beckey was recovering. She never stayed to drink the water, but she laid hold on Luke again, and began to laugh and cry; and Amy said, "So! so! Mrs. Barnicott, restrain yourself, or you'll go into high-sterics. And, mi! don't pull the young gentleman so; he'll think you are going 'utick,'" meaning lunatic.

Beckey took no notice, but catching Luke round the neck, to Amy's great horror, for she thought now she was gone "utick" in reality, she began kissing him, and then she laughed and said, "Amy, woman, it is Luke—my own lad Luke. Oh! where were my eyes?"—Beckey always talked of seeing, though she could not see—"where were my ears? But I reckon it's because my own Luke has now gotten his man's voice and his man's look, and he had only his lad's voice and his lad's look when he went. Black is his hair, says thou, Amy? and it was as light and shiney as tow when he was a lad. But so was his father's. When he began to tell me about Sally Flamstead, all at once I heard his father speaking and himself speaking, and my heart went with a great jump, and I knew it all. Ay, I'm blind and deaf too, or I should ha' fun' that out before this. Luke, lad! Luke, it is thee; thou wunna deny it?"

"No, dear granny," said Luke, using the old familiar term, "I won't deny it; I am your own Luke, and I am come to live near you while you are left to us."

"And yet, Luke," said the trembling old grandmother, "thou went away and