“Who’s that fellow hanging about?” he said to Pearson, who was driving him; “and what does he want here?” “Bless you, sir! that’s Joe,” Pearson said. “He’s after no harm. He’s honest enough as long as there ain’t nothing much in his way; and he’s waiting for the pieces as cook gives him once a week when he comes his rounds. There’s no harm in poor Joe.” “I suppose not, since you say so,” said John; “but you know the ladies are rather nervous, Pearson. You must keep a look-out that no suspicious-looking person hangs about the house.” “Bless us! Mr. John,” said Pearson, “what are they nervous about?--the baby? But nobody wants to steal a baby, bless your soul!” “I quite agree with you,” said John, much relieved (though he considered Pearson an old fool, in a general way) to have his own opinion confirmed. “But, all the same, I wish you would be doubly particular not to admit anybody you don’t know; and if any man should appear to bother them send for me on the moment. Do you hear?” “What do you call any man, sir?” said Pearson, smartly. He had ideas of his own, though he might be a fool. “I mean what I say,” said John, more sharply still. “Any one that molests or alarms them. Send me off a telegram at once--‘You’re wanted!’ That will be quite enough. But don’t go with it to the office yourself; send somebody--there’s always your boy about the place--and keep about like a dragon yourself.” “I’ll do my best, sir,” said Pearson, “though I don’t know what a dragon is, except it’s the one in the Bible; and that’s not a thing anybody would want about the place.” It was a comfort to John, after all his troubles, to be able to laugh, which he did with a heartiness which surprised Pearson, who was quite unaware that he had made any joke. These fears, however, which were imposed upon him by the contagion of the terrors of the others, soon passed from John’s mind. He was convinced that Phil Compton would take no such step; and that, however much he might wish his wife to return, the possession of the baby was not a thing which he would struggle over. It cannot be denied, however, that he was anxious, and eagerly inspected his letters in the morning, and looked out for telegrams during the day. Fortunately, however, no evil tidings came. Mrs. Dennistoun reported unbroken peace in the Cottage and increasing strength on the part of Elinor; and, in a parenthesis with a sort of apology, of the baby. Nobody had come near them to trouble them. Elinor had received no letters. The tie between her and her husband seemed to be cut as with a knife. “We cannot of course,” she said, “expect this tranquillity to last.”