Don't tell your father.

MARK ARMSWORTH." "Queer old world it is!" said Tom, when the first burst of childish delight was over.

"And jolly old flirt, Dame Fortune, after all! If I had written this in a book now, who'd have believed it ?" "Father," said he, as he kissed the old man farewell, "I've a little money come in.

I'll send you fifty from London in a day or two, and lodge a hundred and fifty more with Smith and Co.

So you'll be quite in clover while I am poisoning the Turkeys, or at some better work." The old man thanked God for his good son, and only hoped that he was not straitening himself to buy luxuries for a useless old fellow.
Another sacred kiss on that white head, and Tom was away for London, with a fuller purse, and a more self-contented heart too, than he had known for many a year.
And Elsley was left behind, under the grey church spire, sleeping with his fathers, and vexing his soul with poetry no more.