"I thought that little face could only belong to one related to Daisy Wilson," he said. "Little one, put yer arms round me. I'm your great-uncle--your great-uncle! I never thought that Daisy Wilson could have a daughter married, and that that daughter could have little ones of her own. Well, well, well, how time does fly! I'm your grandmother's brother--Sandy Wilson, home from Australia, my little pet; and when shall I see you all? It does my old heart good to see my sister over again in a little thing like you." "My great-uncle?" repeated Daisy. She was an affectionate little thing, and the man's agitation and delight so far touched her baby heart as to induce her to give him one very slight, dainty kiss. Then she sidled down to the ground. "Ef you please, sir," said Anne again, who felt absolutely certain that she had now made the fortune of her family, and who thought that that fact ought to be recognised--"ef you please, sir, 'tis but right as you should know as my missis's mother have long bin dead. My missis as is her living model is away, and won't be back afore Thursday. She's down by the seaside wid Master Harold wot' ad the scarlet fever, and wor like to die; and the fam'ly address, please sir, is 10, Tremins Road, Kentish Town." At the news of his sister's death so curtly announced by Anne, the man's rough, weatherbeaten face grew white. He did not touch Daisy again, or even look at little Angus; but going up to Anne, he slipped a sovereign into her hand. "Take those children safely home now," he said; "the day is turning chilly, and--and--thank you for what you told me of, my good lass. I'll come and see your missis on Thursday night." Then, without another word, he hurried away. Quickly this big, rough man, who had nearly knocked down Jasper Harman the night before, hurried through the park. The exultation had died out of his face; his heart had ceased to beat wildly. Little Daisy's pretty figure was still before his eyes; but, weatherbeaten and lifebeaten man that he was, he found himself looking at it through a mist of tears. "'Tis a bit of a shock," he said to himself. "I'll take it quietly, of course. Sandy Wilson learned long ago to take everything quietly; but it's a rare bit of a shock. I never guessed as my little Daisy would die. Five and twenty years since we met, and all that time I've never once clasped the hand of a blood-relation--never had one belonging to me. I thought I was coming back to Daisy, and Daisy has died. She was very young to die--quite five years younger than me. A pretty, pretty lass; the little 'un is her image. How odd I should have knocked up against Daisy's grandchild, and should find her out by the likeness. Well, well, I'll call at 10, Tremins Road. I'll call, of course; not that I care much now, as my little sister Daisy Wilson is dead."