"Now, Elinor," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "he has played his part beautifully; he has done everything you taught him. He has told you who he is and who Uncle John is. Let him go to his nursery now." "Come up-stairs, Pippo. Mother will carry her boy," said Elinor. "They don't want us any more, these old people. Say good-night to Uncle John, and come to bed." "Dood-night, 'tle John," said the child; which, however, was not enough, for he tilted himself out of his mother's arms and put his rosy face and open mouth, sweet but damp, upon John's face. This kiss was one of the child's accomplishments. He himself was aware that he had been good, and behaved himself in every way as a child should do, as he was carried off crowing and jabbering in his mother's arms. He had formed a sort of little human bridge between them when he made that dive from Elinor's arms upon John's face. Ah, heaven! if it had been the other way, if the child and the mother had both been his! "He has grown up very sweet. You may think we are foolish, John; but you can't imagine what a delight that child is. Hasn't he grown up sweet?" "If you call that grown up!" "Oh, yes, I know he is only a baby still; but so forward for his age, such a little man, taking care of his mother before he is two years old!" "What did I hear her call him?" John asked, and it seemed to Mrs. Dennistoun that there was something severe in the sound of his voice. "He had to be Philip. It is a pretty name, though we may have reason to mourn the day--and belongs to his family. We must not forget that he belongs to a known family, however he may have suffered by it." "Then you intend the child to know about his family? I am glad to hear it," said John, though his voice perhaps was not so sweet as his words. "Oh, John, that is quite another thing! to know about his family--at two! He has his mother--and me to take care of them both, and what does he want more?" "But he will not always be two," said John, the first moment almost of his arrival, before he had seen the house, or said a word about the lake, or anything. She was so disappointed and cast down that she made him no reply. "I am a wretched croaker," he said, after a moment, "I know. I ought after all this time to try to make myself more agreeable; but you must pardon me if this was the first thing that came into my mind. Elinor is looking a great deal better than when I saw her last." "Isn't she! another creature. I don't say that I am satisfied, John. Who would be satisfied in such a position of affairs? but while the child is so very young nothing matters very much. And she is quite happy. I do think she is quite happy. And so well--this country suits them both perfectly. Though there is a good deal of rain, they are both out every day. And little Pippo thrives, as you see, like a flower." "That is a very fantastic name to give the child."