"I wonder old Timothy dares to stay in his house when any moment a lump of earth may break away," said the boy to himself. "What a lot has gone since I was here last! I remember there used to be a pigsty here in the spring, but I suppose that’s it lying in pieces on the shore. I wonder if the pig was in it when it went down." As he meditated upon this possible tragedy the door of the house opened and two people came out. Julius at once recognized them as the stranger lady and her little son, whom he had met before and been cautioned to avoid. He crouched down behind a sheltering bush until they should pass by. "She’s got rather a nice face," he murmured, "and the boy’s not half bad, in spite of all father says against them." It was no wonder that the lonely child looked with longing eyes upon the pair. Others as well as he had found comfort in the calm sweetness which rested as the habitual expression on Madelaine Power’s fair features. As she turned at the porch to wave farewell to old Timothy, the honeysuckle made a fitting frame to her tall, graceful figure, clad in the simple black gown which tells the story of widowhood to the world. Julius watched her as she walked down the path towards the gate, her eyes full of mother-love as she met the eager upturned gaze of the curly-headed child at her side, and a sharp pang of jealousy shot through his heart, leaving a sore feeling behind. "It’s a perfect beauty, mother!" the boy was saying. "I think it was just awfully good of Timothy to give it to me." Julius noticed that the lad was carrying something beneath his jacket, carefully pressed against his chest--something that moved, for it needed both hands and arms to hold it safe. "We’ll have to make a little house for it, Robin," answered his mother. "I’m afraid it will feel rather strange at first, poor creature, in its unaccustomed quarters." "I wonder what he’s got," soliloquized Julius. "I expect it’s a puppy or a kitten, or some idiotic thing like that. What’s the use of making such a fuss about it, when they’re as common as blackberries." But to Robin the little, warm, furry bundle he held so closely to his breast meant a treasure precious beyond words, the possession of which had suddenly turned his prospects rose-colour. All the way down the lane his busy tongue never ceased. Plan after plan for the accommodation of his new favourite was poured into his mother’s attentive ear. Julius listened enviously until the clear ringing voice had died away in the distance. When he could hear it no longer, he rose from his hiding-place and sauntered slowly and discontentedly home. It was early next morning when he met Robin once again.