He was humble before her. He felt, indeed, that he had been the most unutterable brute. How could he have stayed away all this time with these dear people waiting for him? He simply hadn't realised-- “And Miss Monogue?” he asked at last, “I'm afraid she's not been very well?” “She's been very ill indeed--for months. At one time we were afraid that she would go. It's her heart. Poor dear, and she's been worrying so about her work--but she's better now and she'll be truly glad to see you, Mr. Peter--but you mustn't stay more than a few minutes. She's up on the sofa but it's the excitement that's bad for her.” But first Peter went to pay a visit to the Tressiter establishment. He knew, from old custom, that this would be the hour when the family would be getting itself, by slow and noisy degrees, to bed. So tremendous, indeed, was the tumult that he was able to open the door and stand, within the room, watching and un-noticed. Mrs. Tressiter was attempting to bathe a fat and very strident baby. Two small boys were standing on a bed and hitting one another with pillows; a little girl lay on her face on the floor and howled for no apparent reason; Robin, but little older than Peter's last impression of him had painted, was standing, naked save for his shirt and looking down, gravely, at his screaming sister. Every now and again, Mrs. Tressiter, without ceasing from her work on the baby who slipped about in her hands like a stout eel, cried in a shrill voice: “Children, if you don't be quiet,” or “Nicholas, in a moment I'll give you such a beating,”--or “Agatha, for goodness' sake!”... Then suddenly Robin, looking up, caught sight of Peter, he gave a shout and was across the room in an instant. There was never a moment's doubt in his eyes. He flung himself upon Peter's body, he wound his arms round Peter's leg, he beat upon his chest with his bullet head, he cried: “Oh! Mr. Peter has come! Mr. Peter has come!” Mrs. Tressiter let the baby fall into the bath with a splash and there it lay howling. The other members of the family gathered round. But Peter thought that he had known no joy so acute for years as the welcome that the small boy gave him. He hoisted Robin on to his shoulder, and there Robin sat with his naked little legs dangling over, his hands in the big man's neck. “Oh! Mr. Westcott, I'm sure...” said Mrs. Tressiter, smiling from ear to ear and wiping her wet hands on her apron--Robin bent his head and bit Peter's ear. “Get on, horse,” he cried and for a quarter of an hour there was wild riot in the Tressiter family. Then they were all put to bed, as good as gold,--“you might have heard a pin drop,” said Mrs. Tressiter, “when Agatha said her prayers”--and at last the lights were put out. Peter bent down over Robin's bed and the boy flung his arms round his neck. “I dreamed of you--I knew you'd come,” he whispered. “What shall I send you as a present to-morrow?” asked Peter.