While Mrs. Ives enjoyed her breakfast, the nurse withdrew into the inner room and began to dress little Piers. “I’m ever so well,” said the boy. “I’m going out for a bit to-day.” “But, my dear, it’s raining.” “That doesn’t matter. You can send for my carriage. I always drive in the brougham on wet days. Nurse, who was that person you were talking to? I heard a voice keep chattering and chattering. Whose was it?” “My mother’s, dear.” “Has your mother come? Oh, I am glad. I want to see her.” “You shall see her when you are dressed, Piers.” “But I’m very sorry I wasn’t in the room when she arrived. I wanted to see you kiss her. Are you beginning to obey her already? You know it’s the fifth commandment—children ought to obey their parents.” “Oh, it’s all right, dear. Don’t talk quite so much, Piers. Sit still while I dress you.” “I feel so well and jolly,” said the child. “When may I go home?” “Not for a bit yet. You would be as bad as ever if you did—you’d have that sinking feeling you spoke to me about.” The child shuddered and began to tremble visibly. “You’re not going back at present, darling. You don’t mind staying in this cosy little house with me, do you?” “It’s like a doll’s house,” said the child; “and your mother must be the head doll. What fun! I’m one of the little ones and you’re another doll.” “Now, come here, Piers, and stand by me, and let me say something. I believe you are a brave boy and that you wouldn’t tell a lie?” “Of course I wouldn’t. I’m quite an important person, you know. Do you think great men such as I shall be tell lies?” “I don’t believe you could tell a lie, Piers. Now, I want you to promise me something; I am sure when you promise you will keep your word. I don’t want my mother to know that you are Sir Piers Pelham.” “Why?” “I cannot tell you why. Sometime she may know, but not yet. All you have to say is that you are Piers, little Piers, my patient. You are not to tell her what your surname is, nor anything about the grand house you used to live in, nor about your mother, nor Dick, nor Barbara. Just say you are my little patient and that you love me—don’t say anything else.” “Must I really promise?” “Yes.” “It seems such an awful lot to promise, and I am afraid. You know, I am not old and I might forget. It’s difficult to remember that you’re not to talk of the people you love. Why must I do it?” “Well, Piers, I thought it would be fun, but you need not if you dislike it. I cannot take you to my mother if you do not, that’s all. I’ll have to send her back to Cornwall. She’s a very amusing old lady, and you’d like her.” “Oh, I’ll promise then,” said the child. “Kiss me, Piers, on each cheek, and then make me the promise very solemnly.” “If it’s going to be solemn I’d better kneel down and pray to God to help me to keep it,” said the boy. “You can do that by and by when you say your prayers, but not now. Kiss me and promise.” “I promise,” said the child.