about the end of the last century, to breathe the pure air of freedom; married here, and died, leaving a son, his own father dying about the same time.  The second son of the late duke seized the titles and estates--the infant real duke was ignored.  I am the lineal descendant of that infant--I am the rightful Duke of Bridgewater; and here am I, forlorn, torn from my high estate, hunted of men, despised by the cold world, ragged, worn, heart-broken, and degraded to the companionship of felons on a raft!” Jim pitied him ever so much, and so did I. We tried to comfort him, but he said it warn't much use, he couldn't be much comforted; said if we was a mind to acknowledge him, that would do him more good than most anything else; so we said we would, if he would tell us how.  He said we ought to bow when we spoke to him, and say “Your Grace,” or “My Lord,” or “Your Lordship”--and he wouldn't mind it if we called him plain “Bridgewater,” which, he said, was a title anyway, and not a name; and one of us ought to wait on him at dinner, and do any little thing for him he wanted done. Well, that was all easy, so we done it.  All through dinner Jim stood around and waited on him, and says, “Will yo' Grace have some o' dis or some o' dat?” and so on, and a body could see it was mighty pleasing to him. But the old man got pretty silent by and by--didn't have much to say, and didn't look pretty comfortable over all that petting that was going on around that duke.  He seemed to have something on his mind.  So, along in the afternoon, he says: “Looky here, Bilgewater,” he says, “I'm nation sorry for you, but you ain't the only person that's had troubles like that.” “No?” “No you ain't.  You ain't the only person that's ben snaked down wrongfully out'n a high place.” “Alas!” “No, you ain't the only person that's had a secret of his birth.”  And, by jings, _he_ begins to cry. “Hold!  What do you mean?” “Bilgewater, kin I trust you?” says the old man, still sort of sobbin