"In all the snow!" so amazed he reverted to the ancient tongue. With the variety of people, and the admixture of English, the rugged points of dialect were being rubbed off. "I've seen some snow, and travelled through it. But this is rather queer. Such a glorious air, and fairly a May day sun. "Who dances barefoot in Janiveer will greet in March." "But they wouldn't go barefooted in the snow," exclaimed Daffodil, in surprise. "They wouldn't do it for choice, though I've seen them dance with their feet tied up in rags. Dance to keep themselves warm," said her father. "Yes. Let us go to the Fort. You'll be wanting to see the b'y's grown up now. An' the old folk." "You haven't grown much older;" looking his father over affectionately. "Bedad! It's not much beyant three years, and does a man get bowed over, an' knock-kneed, an' half-blind, an' bald-headed, an' walk with a stick in that little time. Havers! Did you expect to see me bed-ridden!" Bernard laughed. The same old contrarity that was not so much temper after all. "I can't say the same of you, more's the pity. You've given the country, a pack of men who'll never give you a thankee, your good looks, an' your flesh, an' at least ten years. Ye're a middle-aged man, Bernard Carrick!" Bernard laughed again. It was like old times, and, oh, how glad he was to be home again. "Come, then; and, Dilly, run down an' see Norah, an' have a good time." Sandy took his son's arm, and they went off together. Daffodil looked after them with long breaths that almost brought tears to her eyes. Grandad hadn't been glad when the news came; she could see just how he had turned with his nose in the air, and now he was claiming his son as if he had all the right. Gran'mere was concocting some mystery on the kitchen table, Barbe sat at the little wheel, spinning. And she was singing, too. A faint pink had come back to her cheek, and her eyes almost laughed with delight. "What's a' the steer, kimmer. What's a' the steer, Jamie has landed, and soon he will be here." She had a soft sweet voice. How long since she had sung with that gayety. True, she had been ill, and now she was well again, and Jamie had come home. But grandad had taken him off, and that somehow rankled in the child's heart. She stood by the window, uncertainly. There were only two small windows in the large room that were of glass, for glass was costly. Another much larger had board shutters, closed tightly, and a blanket hung over it to keep out the cold. They called it the summer window. One looked over to the other house and Daffodil was there. "I wouldn't go over if I were you," said her mother. "It is very wet. Grandad might have carried you, but he hardly knows whether he's on his head or his heels." "He'd look very funny on his head. What makes him so glad? He was angry about--if that great general hadn't--I can't say the long word, father couldn't have come home." She turned a very puzzled face to her mother.