After this there was nothing to do but follow her, with a heavy heart, into the room, where Cousin Pelham stood, ponderously frowning at the door. I could not this evening meet his annoyance with my usual playful apology; and a little later, when the excellent supper was served, I found that I was unable to swallow a morsel. The fact that I was leaving the next day, that I should, perhaps, not see Pell again for years, had turned my heart to lead. When supper was over I escaped as soon as I could and ran upstairs to the room where Pell slept. A candle was burning by his bed, and to my amazement the child was sleeping peacefully, with a smile on his face where the traces of tears were scarcely dried. While I looked down on him, he stirred and opened his eyes. “I thought you were Mammy,” he murmured, with a drowsy laugh. “Has Mammy been here?” I asked. He was so sleepy that he could barely answer; but, as he nestled down into the middle of the feather bed, he replied without the faintest sign of his recent distress: “She was here when I came up. She told me it was all right about Wop. Uncle Moab is keeping him for me.” “Uncle Moab is keeping him?” I pressed my hand on his forehead under the vivid hair; but there was no hint of fever. “She says she gave Wop to Uncle Moab. Mammy wouldn’t let anybody hurt him.” Then his eyes closed while the smile quivered on his lips. “Mammy says you must take me with you when you go away,” he murmured. His face changed to an almost unearthly loveliness, and before I could answer, before I could even take in the words he had spoken, he had fallen asleep. For a minute I stood looking down on him. Then leaving the candle still burning, I went out, closing the door softly, and ran against the maid, a young Irish woman, whose face I liked. “I was just going to see if Pell had fallen asleep,” she explained a little nervously. “I have a message for him. You won’t tell Mrs. Blanton I brought it?” “No. I won’t tell Mrs. Blanton.” For an instant the girl hesitated. “She is so strict,” she blurted out, and then more guardedly, “William wouldn’t have drowned the child’s puppy. He just took it away and gave it to Uncle Moab who was going along the road.” “I am glad,” I said eagerly. “Uncle Moab will look after it?” “He sent Pell a message not to worry. I was going in to tell him.” “But he knows it already,” I replied indiscreetly. “Somebody told him.” A puzzled look came into her face. “But nobody knew. William just came back a minute ago, and there hasn’t been another soul on the place this afternoon.” I saw my slip at once and hastened to remedy it. “Then I was mistaken of course. The child must have imagined it.” “Yes, he does imagine things,” she responded readily; and after a word of good-night, she turned back to the stairs while I crossed the hall to my room.