Down the drive ran Tony, with William galumphing beside him. But William was not happy, and squealed softly from time to time. He felt it unkind to leave a poor lady crying like that, and yet was constrained to go with Tony because Meg had left him in William's charge. Tony turned out of the gate and into the road. Far away in the distance was a man's figure striding along with incredible swiftness. Tony started to run all he knew. Now, seldom as William barked, he barked when people ran, and William's bark was so deep and sonorous and distinctive that it caused the swiftly striding man to turn his head. He turned his body, too, and came back to meet Tony and William. Tony was puffed and almost breathless, but he managed to jerk out: "You must go back; she's ... crying dreadful. You _must_ go back. Go quick; don't wait for us." Peter went. * * * * * Jan very rarely cried. When she did it hurt fiercely and absorbed all her attention. She was crying now as if she would never stop. If people seldom cry it has a devastating effect on their appearance when they do. Jan's eyelids were swollen, her nose scarlet and shiny, her features all bleared and blurred and almost scarred by tears. Someone touched her gently on the shoulder, and she looked up. "My dear," said Peter, "you must not cry like this. I was losing my temper--that's why I went off." Jan sprang to her feet and flung her arms round his neck. She pressed her ravaged face against his: "I'll do anything you like," she whispered, "if you'll only like it. I can't stand by myself any more." This was true, for as she spoke her knees gave under her. Peter held her close. Never had Jan looked less attractive and never had Peter loved her more, or realised so clearly how dear and foolish and wise and womanly she was. "You see," she sobbed, "you said yourself everyone _must_ do his job, and I thought----" "But surely," said Peter, "I _am_ your job--part of it, anyway." Jan sobbed now more quietly, with her head against his shoulder. Tony and William came and looked in at the window. His aunt was still crying, crying hard, though Peter was there close beside her, very close indeed. Surely this was most unreasonable. "She said," Tony remarked accusingly to Peter, "she was crying because you had gone, so I ran to fetch you back. And now I _have_ fetched you, she's crying worse nor ever." But William Bloomsbury knew better. William had cause to know the solitary bitter tears that hurt. These tears were different. So William wagged his tail and ran into the room, jumping joyously on Peter and Jan. [Transcriber's Note: The following corrections were made: p. 44: Daddy to Daddie, to match all other occurrences (Daddie was very daylight.) p. 113: log to long (long grey dust-cloak) p. 113: froward to forward (Anthony came forward) p. 118: bread-an-butter to bread-and-butter (several pieces of bread-and-butter)