There were many photographs of Alfred in all stages of development: Alfred sucking his thumb with an expression upon his year-old countenance as if he were thinking regretfully of something more nourishing; Alfred in a much be-ribanded frock; Alfred in knickerbockers; Alfred in a kilt; Alfred in trowsers, evidently on good terms with himself and all the world; Alfred as he appeared in his Sunday best, about to take the air with an audacious parlourmaid; and, lastly, Alfred in khaki and Fancy, arm in crook. She glanced hastily at other photographs, of Sir Geoffrey and Lady Pomfret and Master Lionel. They smiled so pleasantly that she frowned. How dared they smile? She was not needed yet upstairs. So she sat on in the gate of her sorrows, alone in the valley of Achor. She heard Solomon scratching at the door. She had left him asleep in his basket, always placed each night by the kitchen hearth. Mrs. Yellam let the dog scratch, but when he began whining she let him in, because Fancy might be disturbed, not because she wanted her dog. Solomon looked at her, and knew. He governed himself accordingly. Mrs. Yellam had returned to her chair. Solomon lay down at her feet. When she wanted to talk to him, she would do so. He kept one ear cocked for the first word. During twenty minutes no word was said. The nurse was in charge of Fancy and the baby. Mrs. Yellam had looked forward to assisting at these first rites. The expected pleasure had turned into a grinding pain. Fancy was going, drifting out of life. Probably her baby would not survive her many days. But she, the old woman, would remain. She gazed down the long perspective of the years to come, cold, dull days without one gleam of sunshine, full of inevitable pain. "I can't bear it," she said aloud. "It be too much for me." Solomon heard. He knew, of course, that the long-awaited words were not addressed to him, but they sounded a clarion note of distress. He laid his head against her knee. She looked at him, meeting his clear young eyes. They seemed to be full of interrogation. "If you want to talk, why not talk to me instead of to yourself?"