And I went down the stairs, and I nearly forgot my breakfast, in my joy. But, having eaten hastily, I went out, my heart glad within me. I took a turn up and down the yard, and paused under the pine to look along the shore. There was Mrs. Goodwin, and she was almost at the path. I waved my hat to her. “You have a grandson, Mrs. Goodwin,” I called to her, “and Eve is doing well.” I know not what she did then--I did not care what she did; for I was still waving my hat. Soon I should be shouting aloud. That would not do, for Eve; and I hurried out at my gate and almost ran Old Goodwin down. “You have a grandson,” I cried, for the second time; “and Eve is doing well.” And he made no reply, but smiled and smiled; and I shook him by the hand until he made a face and took his hand away and looked at it. And I did but laugh and push by him. “Go in,” I said, “go in. Eve is sleeping, and I--I must walk.” So he went in, and I went on, down the road. At the next corner I met Burdon; and, though I had not spoken to him for years--I have forgot what was the cause of it--I rushed up and took him by the hand. He seemed astonished, as well he might. “Congratulate me,” I cried; “for I have a son.” At that he grinned. “Mother doing well?” he asked. “I am glad--very glad.” And he shook my hand with heartiness. I left him, looking after me, and grinning still. But I went on swiftly, until the houses were all behind me, and before me were the woods and the everlasting hills. Yet a little while I waited--until the woods had shut me in--then I could wait no longer. I waved my hands and shouted to the echoing woods. “Why hop ye so,” I cried, “ye high hills?” And the hills sent me back my question again. And--well, I am glad that there was no one there to see what I did--they would surely have thought me gone out of my wits. And when I was, in a measure, quieted, I turned me about and went soberly back again; though I was ready enough to laugh if there had been any to laugh with me. And now my son has grown apace, and no longer shows to the world a red and wrinkled face, but one that is fair, with some pink color in his cheeks, where it should be. And his hair--he has a quantity of hair, which, as I understand, is not the habit of new-born infants--his hair is not black, as it was at first, but shows yellow at the ends. Indeed, I marveled somewhat at the blackness of his hair, for my hair is not black, and certainly Eve’s is not. But, when I mentioned the matter, the nurse did but smile at my ignorance and say that it would be light enough in time. And my son has smiled at last--he does little else now,--save when he is laughing. And I--I am become his slave, being no longer a strange animal, and when he wills I bend my head and let him twine his fingers in my hair and pull. He pulls well, and laughs the while, and crows mightily with the joy of it.