I sat down by the well and waited, watching the door. It seemed a long time that it remained closed, and no one came near me. At last in the stillness I was glad to hear the well-known heavy knock that Farmer Foster always gave upon the gate with his stick. I went and pulled it back. I have not said anything yet about Farmer Foster. But Foster of Furzy Nook was a name so well known in those days all round the country that it seems to me as if no one needed to be told about him. From our windows we could see the twisted chimneys of Furzy Nook farm peeping through the trees. A quaint old-fashioned farm-house, built of red brick, standing in a hollow at the end of a long green lane arched over all the way with trees, that was the pride of the neighbourhood. To go to Furzy Nook for the afternoon had always seemed to me and Hildred the greatest happiness that the world had to offer. Mother used to live there before she married my father, and the kind old people were almost as fond of her as if she had been a daughter of their own. Farmer Foster was always coming up to the Castle to see her. I was very glad this afternoon to see the kind face and the gaiters and the shaggy pony looking just the same as usual. 'Well, Willie,' called out the loud cheery tones that sounded very comforting to-day, 'and how's mother?' Holding on to his stirrup, as he rode slowly in under the archway, I told him all that had happened in the last half hour. He gave a sort of whistle of dismay 'Struck down with fever, eh, Willie?--that's bad. And father won't be home till night?' he said, biting the end of his whip and staring at the door. 'Well, you'll have to hold the nag for me, lad, that's what you'll have to do.' And he got off and went into the house. By and by he came out again with my mother, and they stood together talking earnestly. I was leading the pony up and down on the grass, but now and then I overheard a few of their words. 'You _must_,' Farmer Foster said once or twice. My mother shook her head: 'I cannot turn the poor creature out to die.' Something I heard about 'very catching,' and mother said 'hush,' and looked towards me. Suddenly I saw the old farmer take her in his arms and kiss her. He came and took the pony away from me, telling me to go to my mother. 'Is the poor soldier better, mother?' 'No. He is very ill, Willie,' she said, putting both her hands in her old fond way on to my head; 'so ill that I must send my boy away. No, Willie, you cannot stay. Farmer Foster is going to take you home with him.' I could not cry when I looked at her face. She was so sorry for me. I knew she would not have sent me away if she could have helped it. I pressed my two hands on to my breast and looked at the inscription over the well. My mother's eyes followed mine and she smiled. Perhaps to go away quietly from her would be more than 'a cup of cold water.'