“_I ’ll_ tell him.” The eyes had flashed wide. They shone dizzily--the little hands clasped themselves--“_I ’ll_ tell him,” she whispered. “All right.” She sat very straight, her gaze fixed on the exact spot where he should come.... Her shoulders drooped a little, but she caught them at it and shook them sternly. Then the eyes blinked--once--twice, and the brown curls nodded. The watching figure was sinking inch by inch into the great folds that enwrapped it. She lifted a heavy, dreamy face to Simeon’s--“I can’t keep--awake--Cinnamon,” she breathed--very wistful--with little jerks between. “Never mind, dear.” He laid a hand on the bending head. “Go to sleep. I ’ll wake you when he comes.” With a deep sigh, the head sank against the strong shoulder. The firelight played across the little figure in its clumsy garments; it touched the sleeping face and tipped the nodding curls. Simeon watched it, the world in his heart speaking low. XXVI I’ve lighted the lantern for ye, Hugh.” The rays of the lantern shone on the meek, wrinkled face, bringing out faint lines and lighting up the yellow-white hair that framed it. The hair was a little rough from the pillow. She had not thought to smooth it since--wakened by some inner voice--she had risen to see that all was well with the bairns. “She ’s been long gone,” she said, looking up to him as he drew on his great mittens and reached for the lantern. “The pillow was cold.” The face beneath the wrinkled lines tried hard to hold itself steady. “You ’re not to worrit, Ellen. I ’ll find her. I ’ll bring her back.” He had thrown open the door and the cold air rushed in. She shrank a little from it, staring at the dark. “She ’ll be fey,” she said, “wi’ the cold and wet and dark. I must have the kettle hot.” She turned toward the stove. He stooped to examine the snow in the light from the door. Then he lifted himself, a look of satisfaction in the grim face. “Shut the door, Ellen,” he called, “I ’ll follow ’em now in the dark.” She came quavering. “Can ye see, Hugh!” She strained her eyes toward him. “Shut the door,” he said. “I can follow--wi’ this.” He lifted the lantern a little and she saw the old face, stern and hopeful. She shut the door and watched through the window as the great figure lunged away. The lantern swayed from side to side with the huge strides, as if a drunken man carried it across the wastes. But the lantern went straight. It was making for the oak wood.