“Oh, yes, mem, it matters--oh, ay, it matters much. The young of no species, much less the human, can bide at home. Fathers and mothers in the lower creation just throw them off, and there’s an end. But you do more than that. You put them in the best way of doing for themselves, and the King himself cannot do better. Alas!” said the minister, “no half so well, decent man--for look at all these young princes, one wilder than the other. And every one of yours doing so well.” “Oh, yes, they’re doing well enough--but such a long way away. And me so delicate. And Robbie never quite strong since he had the measles. It’s borne in upon me that I will never see him again.” “You need not say it, mother,” said Kirsteen, “for that’s what nobody can know; and it’s just as likely he may be sent home with despatches, or some great grandee take a fancy to him and bring him back. And when we’re sitting some day working our stockings he’ll come linking in by the parlour door.” “Oh, you’re just as light as air,” said the mother; “there’s nothing serious in ye. You think going to India is just like going to the fair.” Kirsteen darted a quick glance at her mother, but said no more. Her eyes kept filling much against her will. She was in great terror lest a big drop might brim over and run down her cheek, to be spied at once by Jeanie or the boys. For nothing would be hid from these little things: they could note at the same moment the last bit of a bird which they had all counted on, being transferred to Aunt Eelen’s plate, and keep an eye upon the favourite apple each had chosen, and spy that suspicious brightness in Kirsteen’s eyes. Nothing could be hid from their sharp, little, all-inspecting looks.