“You could never seem anything but a most charming and gracious lady,” said the old gentleman, with another of his bows. And as they turned to go up the hill, Bobbie saw her Mother's face. “How tired you look, Mammy,” she said; “lean on me.” “It's my place to give Mother my arm,” said Peter. “I'm the head man of the family when Father's away.” Mother took an arm of each. “How awfully nice,” said Phyllis, skipping joyfully, “to think of the dear Russian embracing his long-lost wife. The baby must have grown a lot since he saw it.” “Yes,” said Mother. “I wonder whether Father will think I'VE grown,” Phyllis went on, skipping still more gaily. “I have grown already, haven't I, Mother?” “Yes,” said Mother, “oh, yes,” and Bobbie and Peter felt her hands tighten on their arms. “Poor old Mammy, you ARE tired,” said Peter. Bobbie said, “Come on, Phil; I'll race you to the gate.” And she started the race, though she hated doing it. YOU know why Bobbie did that. Mother only thought that Bobbie was tired of walking slowly. Even Mothers, who love you better than anyone else ever will, don't always understand. Chapter VIII. The amateur firemen. “That's a likely little brooch you've got on, Miss,” said Perks the Porter; “I don't know as ever I see a thing more like a buttercup without it WAS a buttercup.” “Yes,” said Bobbie, glad and flushed by this approval. “I always thought it was more like a buttercup almost than even a real one--and I NEVER thought it would come to be mine, my very own--and then Mother gave it to me for my birthday.” “Oh, have you had a birthday?” said Perks; and he seemed quite surprised, as though a birthday were a thing only granted to a favoured few. “Yes,” said Bobbie; “when's your birthday, Mr. Perks?” The children were taking tea with Mr. Perks in the Porters' room among the lamps and the railway almanacs. They had brought their own cups and some jam turnovers. Mr. Perks made tea in a beer can, as usual, and everyone felt very happy and confidential. “My birthday?” said Perks, tipping some more dark brown tea out of the can into Peter's cup. “I give up keeping of my birthday afore you was born.” “But you must have been born SOMETIME, you know,” said Phyllis, thoughtfully, “even if it was twenty years ago--or thirty or sixty or seventy.” “Not so long as that, Missie,” Perks grinned as he answered. “If you really want to know, it was thirty-two years ago, come the fifteenth of this month.” “Then why don't you keep it?” asked Phyllis. “I've got something else to keep besides birthdays,” said Perks, briefly. “Oh! What?” asked Phyllis, eagerly. “Not secrets?” “No,” said Perks, “the kids and the Missus.” It was this talk that set the children thinking, and, presently, talking. Perks was, on the whole, the dearest friend they had made. Not so grand as the Station Master, but more approachable--less powerful than the old gentleman, but more confidential.