“And him a canny Scotchman with a new child a year. Yes, my certie,” offered Nanny, with an acrid grimness. Mrs. Muir’s hands clasped strongly as they lay on the table before her. “That doesn’t come within my bailiewick,” she said in her quiet voice. “Her life is her own and not mine. Words are the wind that blows.” She stopped just a moment and began again. “We must leave for Scotland by the earliest train.” “What’ll he do?” the words escaped from the woman as if involuntarily. She even drew a quick breath. “He’s a strong feeling bairn—strong!” “He’ll be stronger when he is a young man, Nanny!” desperately. “That is why I must act now. There is no half way. I don’t want to be hard. Oh, am I hard—am I hard?” she cried out low as if she were pleading. “No, ma’am. You are not. He’s your own flesh and blood.” Nanny had never before seen her mistress as she saw her in the next curious almost exaggerated moment. Her hand flew to her side. “He’s my heart and my soul—” she said, “—he is the very entrails of me! And it will hurt him so and I cannot explain to him because he is too young to understand. He is only a little boy who must go where he is taken. And he cannot help himself. It’s—unfair!” Nanny was prone to become more Scotch as she became moved. But she still managed to look grim. “He canna help himsel,” she said, “an waur still, _you_ canna.” There was a moment of stillness and then she said: “I must go and pack up.” And walked out of the room. Donal always slept like a young roe in the bracken, and in deep and rapturous ease he slept this night. Another perfectly joyful day had passed and his Mother had liked Robin and kissed her. All was well with the world. As long as he had remained awake—and it had not been long—he had thought of delightful things unfeverishly. Of Robin, somehow at Braemarnie, growing bigger very quickly—big enough for all sorts of games—learning to ride Chieftain, even to gallop. His mother would buy another pony and they could ride side by side. Robin would laugh and her hair would fly behind her if they went fast. She would see how fast he could go—she would see him make Chieftain jump. They would have picnics—catch sight of deer and fawns delicately lifting their feet as they stepped. She would always look at him with that nice look in her eyes and the little smile which came and went in a second. She was quite different from the minister’s little girls at the Manse. He liked her—he liked her! He was wakened by a light in his room and by the sound of moving about. He sat up quickly and found his Mother standing by his bed and Nanny putting things into a travelling bag. He felt as if his Mother looked taller than she had looked yesterday—and almost thin—and her face was anxious and—shy.