"Ay!" said Tom, looking down with a new light in his weary eyes, "the day _is_ breaking!"

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

WHICH BRINGS MY ADVENTURES TO A CLOSE.

Reader, be my companion in one scene more, and my story is done.

A month or two ago there was a grand merrymaking at the house of one Charles Newcome, Esquire, late captain in her Majesty's army, to celebrate the tenth birthday of his son, Master Thomas James Newcome.

The company was mostly juvenile, and included, of course, the gallant captain's two little girls and his younger son, that most terrible of all Turks, Charlie the younger. Then there were all the little boys and girls living in the square, and many others from a distance, and one or two big boys and girls, and one or two young gentlemen who stroked their chins as if something was to be felt there, and one or two young ladies who would not take twice of sponge-cake, for fear of looking as if they were hungry. But besides these there were a few grown-up people present, whom I must not forget to name. Naturally the gallant captain was one, and the gallant captain's lady was another; and then there were the last-named lady's two brothers there, one a clergyman called the Reverend James Halliday, and the other (and elder) Mr Joseph Halliday, a civil engineer with a ferocious pair of whiskers. And, to complete the party, there was present a grave, anxious-looking gentleman by the name of Mr Drift, a surgeon.

These all sat apart and looked on while the young folk enjoyed themselves. And how the young folk did enjoy themselves that night!

What shouting and laughter there was, what a jingling of the piano, what hiding in corners, what romping on the stair case! And the round games, and the charades, and the family posts! Oh dear me, I'm an old watch, and I've gone through a good many noisy scenes, but I never remember such a racket as this.

And how the young folk besieged the elder and compelled them to join in the fun. There was papa down on his hands and knees with half-a-dozen youngsters on his back. And there was Uncle Joseph performing tricks of conjuring before a select audience; and Mr Drift telling stories to another; and as for the reverend Uncle Jim, he was made blind man, and had his long coat-tails pulled; and, strange to say, he never caught anybody all the time. And then the supper! who shall describe that? the clattering of dishes, the rattle of knives and forks, the banging of crackers, the peals of laughter, and the cross-fire of chaff.

Alas! all good things must come to an end, and so did this party. One by one the little guests said good-bye, and after they had gone the little family of children and elders was left alone. Though it was past eleven, the little urchin Charlie insisted on clambering on to Mr Drift's knee, to hear one last story, and the little girls besieged their uncles, and put their arms round their necks, and besought their intercession with mamma to gain them another half-hour's respite down stairs.

"Charlie," said Tom Drift, "this little fellow is worrying me for a story. Suppose you tell one."

"Oh yes," shouted that small chorus. "Oh yes! papa, please tell us a story?"

"Hear, hear!" said Uncle Joe.

"Fire away," said Uncle Jim.

"Remember, it must be quite a short one, Charles," said mamma.

Charlie Newcome the elder looked puzzled for a minute, and fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat.

Then he turned to his eldest boy, and said,--

"Tom, open that cabinet there and bring me the watch that is under the gla.s.s-case."

"The old, ugly watch, papa?" asked the boy, running off on his errand.

"Yes, the old, ugly watch," said papa, with a queer sort of smile.

The boy brought me. I was taken out of my case, and lay there in his open hand.

"Once upon a time," began papa--and what a hush fell on that little company!--"once upon a time there was a little boy,"--why was it everyone but the children looked so grave? and why did Mr Drift push his chair back into the shadow? why, even, did papa's voice tremble now and then as he went on, and caught the eye first of one and then another of his listeners?

That night he told my story--not as I have told it to you. There was not much about Mr Drift in the story he told, and a great deal less about himself than there might have been. But as he went on these children crowded round me and looked with awe upon my battered body, and read with reverence those quaintly-scratched initials, and as they followed me in imagination from one master to another, and from one peril to the next, ending up with the famous battle before Lucknow, they forgot I was old and ugly, and I gradually appeared to their little eyes one of the greatest treasures which their father's house contained.

"And here he lies in my hand, children," concluded papa; "and if you love him as much as I do you must be very fond of him. And now, good- night, all of you."

THE END.