“You'll see, you'll see,” said Pete. At seven that night Pete was smoking over the gate when Kelly the Thief came up with a brown paper parcel. “Parcel for you, Mr. Quilliam,” said the postman, with the air of a man who knew something he should not know. Pete blinked and looked bewildered. “You don't say!” he said. “Well, if that's your name,” began the postman, holding the address for Pete to read. Pete gave it a searching look. “Cap'n Peatr Quilliam, that's it sartenly, _Lm Cottig_--yes, it must be right,” he said, taking the parcel gingerly. Then with a prolonged “O----o!” shutting his eyes and nodding his head, “I know--a bit of a present from the mother to the lil one. Wonderful thoughtful a woman is about a baby when she's a mother, Mr. Kelly.” The postman giggled, threw his finger seaward over one shoulder, and said, “Why aren't you writing back to her, then?” “What's that?” said Pete sharply, making the parcel creak. “Why aren't you writing to tell her how the lil one is, I'm saying?” Pete looked at the postman as if the idea had dropped from heaven. “I must have a head as thick as a mooring-post, Mr. Kelly. Do you know, I never once thought of it. I'm like Goliath when he got little David's stone at his forehead--such a thing never entered my head before.” “Do it for all, Mr. Quilliam,” said the postman, moving off. “I will, I will,” said Pete; and then he turned into the house. “Scissors, Nancy,” he shouted, throwing the parcel on the table. “My sakes, a parcel!” cried Nancy. “Aisy to tell where it comes from, too. See that knot, woman?” said Pete, with a knowing wink. “What in the world is it, Pete?” said Nancy. “I wonder!” said Pete. “Papers enough round it, anyway. A letter? We'll look at that after,” he said loftily, and then out came the scarlet hood. “Gough bless mee what's this thing at all?” and he held it up by the crown. Nancy made a cry of alarm, took the hood out of his hand, and scolded him roundly. “These men, they're fit to spoil an angel's wings.” Then she whipped up the baby out of the cradle, tried the hood on the little round head, and shouted with delight. “Now I was thinking of that, d'ye know?” she said. “I was, yes, I was; believe me or not, I was. 'Kirry will be sending something for the lil one the next time she writes,' I was thinking, and behould ye--here it is.” “Something spakes to us, Nancy,” said Pete. “'Deed it does, though.” The child gurgled and purred, and for all her fine headgear she was absorbed in her bare toes. “And there's yourself, Pete--going to Peel and to Douglas, and I don't know where--and you've never once thought of the lil one--and knowing we were for shortening her, too.” Pete cast down his head and looked ashamed. “Well, no--of coorse--I never have--that's truth enough,” he faltered. VII.