It was Barty who had brought out the car, and, on his father's departure, he released the grip of the railings that had enabled him to keep his footing, and was, literally, blown into the house. "Shut the door, my Pigeon-pie!" said his mother, "the wind's too strong for me." Barty was too well accustomed to this expression of his mother's affection to resent it, and having done her bidding, he followed her into the Doctor's room, which alone had a fire in it. "Nothing would please Tishy only to go down to the Whelplys," complained Mrs. Mangan, poking the fire, and seating herself in front of it with a long, groaning sigh of exhaustion; "some nonsense about a wreath. A wreath indeed! Any one'd be lucky that kept their hair on their heads in this wind, let alone a wreath! You'll have to go fetch her, my poor boy! I'll not be easy till I see her and Pappy home again! I thought maybe Larry might have come over, but I declare now I'm glad he did not." "Larry's not like himself lately," said Barty, sitting down in his father's chair, and taking from his pocket a paper packet and extracting a crushed cigarette from it. "I think the loss of th' election disappointed him greatly." "'Twas well he had Tishy to console him," said Mrs. Mangan, "it was in the nick of time she cot him!" "It was," replied Barty, tepidly. "I think also," he went on, "he's put out about his aunt not coming down for the wedding, and even young Mrs. Kirby away. It's funny to think Coppinger's Court and Mount Music are empty now, the two of them--or will be after to-morrow. Miss Christian went to-day." ("See now how he's talking of her!" thought his mother. "I wonder did Francis say anything to him?") Aloud she said: "It's a pity she's gone, but it mightn't be for long." "I saw her yesterday. The Doctor sent me there for a map," said Barty, with elaborate unconcern. ("Look at that now!" again commented Mrs. Mangan to herself. "How well they never told me he'd gone to see her! Aren't men a fright the way they'll hide things!") "She's a sweet girl, my Pidgie," she resumed, to her son, "And Pappy's always said the same thing." Barty looked at her like a horse prepared to shy. Had his father said anything to her? The longing to speak of Christian had mastered him, but if his mother knew-- "I think I'd better go for Tishy now," he said abruptly, "It might be a job to get down the town later on." He left the room, and Mrs. Mangan, in her husband's big chair, by his big fire, fell into tired yet peaceful ease of body and mind. How wonderful was Francis! Who but he would have dared to aspire for his children as he had? He had secured for Tishy the very pick of the country; and now, her own darling Barty! Was it possible? Yes! It was, if Francis said so! But _what_ was "the argument he had up his sleeve?" Never mind! Francis would tell her when he came home. There was no hurry. But again, how wonderful was Francis!