When he came in sight of the river, there, almost opposite the painter’s house, lay his own little yacht! He thought of Kelpie in the stable, saw Psyche floating like a swan in the reach, made two or three long strides, then sought to exhale the pride of life in thanksgiving. The moment his arrival was announced to Lenorme, he came down and went with him, and in an hour or two they had found very much the sort of horse they wanted. Malcolm took him home for trial, and Florimel was pleased with him. The earl’s opinion was not to be had, for he had hurt his shoulder when he fell from the rearing Kelpie the day before, and was confined to his room in Curzon Street. In the evening Malcolm put on his yachter’s uniform, and set out again for Chelsea. There he took a boat, and crossed the river to the yacht, which lay near the other side, in charge of an old salt whose acquaintance Blue Peter had made when lying below the bridges. On board he found all tidy and ship-shape. He dived into the cabin, lighted a candle, and made some measurements: all the little luxuries of the nest, carpets, cushions, curtains, and other things, were at Lossie House, having been removed when the Psyche was laid up for the winter: he was going to replace them. And he was anxious to see whether he could not fulfil a desire he had once heard Florimel express to her father--that she had a bed on board, and could sleep there. He found it possible, and had soon contrived a berth: even a tiny stateroom was within the limits of construction. Returning to the deck, he was consulting Travers about a carpenter, when, to his astonishment, he saw young Davy, the boy he had brought from Duff Harbour, and whom he understood to have gone back with Blue Peter, gazing at him from before the mast. “Gien ye please, Maister MacPhail,” said Davy, and said no more. “How on earth do _you_ come to be here, you rascal?” said Malcolm. “Peter was to take you home with him!” “I garred him think I was gauin’,” answered the boy, scratching his red poll, which glowed in the dusk. “I gave him your wages,” said Malcolm. “Ay, he tauld me that, but I loot them gang an’ gae him the slip, an’ was ashore close ahint yersel’, sir, jist as the smack set sail. I cudna gang ohn hed a word wi’ yersel’, sir, to see whether ye wadna lat me bide wi’ ye, sir. I haena muckle wut, they tell me, sir, but gien I michtna aye be able to du what ye tell’t me to du, I cud aye haud ohn dune what ye tell’t me no to.” The words of the boy pleased Malcolm more than he judged it wise to manifest. He looked hard at Davy. There was little to be seen in his face except the best and only thing--truth. It shone from his round pale blue eyes; it conquered the self-assertion of his unhappy nose; it seemed to glow in every freckle of his sunburnt cheeks, as earnestly he returned Malcolm’s gaze. “But,” said Malcolm, almost satisfied, “how is this, Travers? I never gave you any instructions about the boy.”