But I need not write at large what, after all, is no unique experience. One night, upon my grandmother's pressing invitation, I walked out on Bruntsfield Links, and kicked stones into the golfers' holes for something to do. It was full moon, I remember, and away to the north the city slept while St. Giles jangled fitfully. I had come there to be away from the little white house, where Irma was passing through the first peril of great waters which makes women's faces different ever after--a few harder, most softer, none ever the same. Ten times I came near, stumbling on the short turf, my feet numb and uncertain beneath me, my limbs flageolating, and my heart rent with a man's helplessness. I called upon God as I had not done in my life before. I had been like many men--so long as I could help myself, I saw no great reason for troubling the Almighty who had already so much on His hands. But now I could do nothing. I had an appalling sense of impotence. So I remembered that He was All-powerful, and just because I had never asked anything with true fervour before, He would the more surely give this to me. So at least I argued as I prayed. And, sure enough, the very next time I coasted the northern shore of the Meadows, as near as I dared, there came one running towards me, clear in the moonlight--Mistress Pathrick it was and no other. "A laddie--a fine laddie!" she panted, waving both her hands in her enthusiasm. "And Irma?" I cried, for that did not interest me at that moment, no, not a pennyworth. "A bhoy--as foine a bhoy----" "Tell me, how is Irma?" I shouted--"quick!" "Wud turn the scale at eleven, divil a ounce less----" "Woman, tell me how is my wife!" I thundered, lifting up my hands, "or I'll twist your foolish neck!" "Keep us!" said Mrs. Pathrick, "why, how should she be? Did ye expect she would be up and bating the carpets?" In half-a-dozen springs, as it seemed, I was within the gate. Then the clear, shrill wail with which a new soul prisoned in an unfamiliar body trumpets its discontent with the vanities of this world stopped me dead. Scarce knowing what I did, I took off my boots. I trod softly. There was a hush now in the house--a sudden stoppage of that shrill bugle-note. I came upon my grandmother, as it seemed, moulding a little ruddy bundle, with as much apparent ease and absence of fuss as if it had been a pat of butter in the dairy at home. And when she put my firstborn son into my arms, I had no high thoughts. I trembled, indeed, but it was with fear lest I should drop him.