“I was just going to milk,” said Ruth, smiling. “We are one hand short to-day, so if you won’t mind my leaving you till teatime, and you will just do exactly what you like, and pick anything you like——” Then Violet Riversley did, for her, an unusual thing. She slipped her hand into Ruth’s, as a shy, rather lonely child might have done. It was one of the moments when she was irresistible. “Let me come with you and watch,” she said. “And why do you carry that big baby about? Is it a good work?” “He’s the farm baby,” said Ruth, her eyes twinkling. “And we found him under a gooseberry-bush.” They had reached the terrace, and the pigeons, just awake from their midday slumber on the sun-baked roof, came tumbling down, fluttering round Ruth, searching the big pockets of her overall for corn, while Bertram Aurelius vainly strove to catch a wing or tail. Mrs. Riversley stood at a little distance. “My goodness, they are tame,” she exclaimed, as the pretty chase for the hidden food went on. “Just as tame as they were with——” She stopped and looked round her. “It is extraordinary how little the place has changed—and it’s not pretending either—it really is just the same here. The same old comfortable at-home feeling. Did you know Mr. Carey by any chance? No, I suppose not. But it’s funny—I have something the same feeling with you I always had with him, and with no one else ever in the world. You rest me—you do me good—you are something cool on a hot day. You know, father felt it too, and he is not given to feelings. Do get rid of that great fat lump. Put him back under his gooseberry-tree. Then we will go milking.” She advanced on Bertram Aurelius threateningly. “Where _does_ he go?” Ruth broke into laughter. “He will go in the manger on the hay, or anywhere else that comes handy. Or—but wait a minute—here come the dogs.” Sarah and Selina were proceeding decorously up the path from the front gate. To all appearances they had been taking a little gentle exercise. There was an air of meekness, an engaging innocence, about them which, to those who knew them, told its own tale. They had undoubtedly been up to mischief. “The dogs?” queried Mrs. Riversley. “They will look after him,” explained Ruth. She went into the house and brought out a small wooden cradle on rockers. In this she arranged Bertram Aurelius, who took the change with his usual philosophy, waved his bare pink legs with vigour, and strove to catch the sunbeams flickering through the jasmine leaves. The little dogs sat side by side, very alert and full of responsibility. It was a picture full of charm, but Mrs. Riversley held herself aloof, though she watched the swift neat movement of Ruth’s work-worn hands with interest until she joined her.