Sometimes at midday recess, the drowsy child would climb into Esther's lap; and when she would cuddle him, his great blue eyes would look up into hers with a look of content and trusting love. After a while the heavy lids would close, and the flaxen hair lie moist on the ruddy forehead. Then Bobbie would be laid on an improvised bed, to finish his siesta. Day after day went by, with increasing love on Bobbie's part, and deepening tenderness on the part of Esther Bright. He was not always good. Far from it. He was a healthy little animal, bright and attractive. His activity sometimes got him into trouble. Then to divert his mind, his teacher would tell him little stories. When she would finish, he would say coaxingly, "More." After a while, he would call for certain stories she had already told him, and interrupt her all the way along, his face alive with intelligent interest. At last he himself wanted to tell the stories to his teacher, with many interpolations and funny variations. But the funniest thing happened one day when he refused to go home, and announced that he would stay with his adopted mother. "Oh, no, Bobbie dear," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "What would your father do without you?" "He tan det another wain," he said, in a tone of satisfaction. "No, Bobbie," insisted the teacher; "you must go home." Still he refused. Then all his Scotch stubbornness asserted itself. He could not be driven or coaxed home. And when the older children tried to carry him, he kicked and screamed and fought, till he had freed himself. He ran to his teacher with heart-rending sobs. She sent the other children home, and took him in her arms. Gradually his sobs ceased and he fell asleep. His face was wet with tears. In his sleep, great sighs, the aftermath of the storm, seemed to come from his innermost heart. The adopted mother sat with her arms clasped about him. Such a look of tender love came into her face as one sometimes sees in the face of a young mother, bending over her sleeping babe. If ever Esther Bright was beautiful, it was at that moment. Kenneth Hastings stood a short distance away, watching her. He lifted his hat and stood with bowed head. At last he spoke her name. She turned, and nodded toward the sleeping boy in her arms. "Come sit down," she said, moving to make room for him on the doorstep. "You seem to be a good nurse, too," he responded, taking the proffered seat. "What's Bobbie doing here this time of day?" She told him of the child's decision to stay with her, and his refusal to go home, his fight, and his stormy sorrow. He listened, with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "Poor little chap," he said; "he has my sympathy in refusing to be parted from you." She flushed slightly. "Don't waste your sympathy," she replied saucily. Somehow that provoking smile of his nettled her. He had found her vulnerable. "Bigger chaps than he feel the same way towards you," he said, smiling still.