Summoned back to the cottage, after she had fulfilled her hostess's last demand, Glory's spirits rose to the highest. It was the first time she had entered the ranks of the seven other children which filled it to overflowing, and who were "shooed" into or out of it, according to their mother's whim. It happened to be out, just then, and with the throng Glory, fast holding Bonny in her arms, chanced to pass close beside the shivering Dennis in his seat by the stove. He looked at her curiously but kindly, and his gaze moved from her now happy face to that of the child in her clasp, where it rested with such a fixed yet startled expression that Glory exclaimed, "Oh, sir, what is it? Do you see anything wrong with my precious?" Now it was the fact that Dennis Fogarty spoke as seldom as his wife did often; and that when he was most profoundly moved he spoke not at all. So then, though his eyes kept their astonished, perplexed expression, his lips closed firmly and to Glory's anxious inquiry, he made no reply. Therefore, waiting but a moment longer, she hurried after the other children and in five minutes was leading them at their games just as she had always led the Elbow children in theirs. But Bonny was still too weak and too small to keep up very long with the boisterous play of these new mates, and seeing this, Take-a-Stitch presently made the seven group themselves around her on the grass while she told them tales. Glory thought of all the fairy stories with which the old blind captain had beguiled their darkened evenings in that "littlest house" where gas or lamplight could not be afforded; then she went on to real stories of the Elbow children themselves; of Meg-Laundress and Posy Jane; and most of all of Nick and Billy, her chosen comrades and almost brothers. One and all the young Fogartys listened open-mouthed and delighted; but, when pressed to talk more about that "grandpa you're lookin' for," poor Glory grew silent. It was one of the loveliest spots in the world where Glory sat that morning, with its view of field and mountain and the wonderful river winding placidly between; but the outcast child would have exchanged it all for just one glimpse of a squalid alley, and a tiny familiar doorway, wherein an old seaman should be sitting carving a bit of wood. Thinking of him, though not talking, she became less interesting company to the Fogartys, who withdrew one by one, attracted by the odor of dinner preparing, and hungry for the scraps which would be tossed among them by their indulgent mother.