“Look here,” said Lettie, “it’s here—and it’s bleeding. Go and get some water, Emily, and some rags. Come on, Sam, let me look and I’ll put some rags round it. Come along.” She took the child and stripped him of his grotesque garments. Trip had given him a sharp grab on the thigh before he had realised that he was dealing with a little boy. It was not much, however, and Lettie soon had it bathed, and anointed with elder-flower ointment. On the boy’s body were several scars and bruises—evidently he had rough times. Lettie tended to him and dressed him again. He endured these attentions like a trapped wild rabbit—never looking at us, never opening his lips—only shrinking slightly. When Lettie had put on him his torn little shirt, and had gathered the great breeches about him, Emily went to him to coax him and make him at home. She kissed him, and talked to him with her full vibration of emotional caress. It seemed almost to suffocate him. Then she tried to feed him with bread and milk from a spoon, but he would not open his mouth, and he turned his head away. “Leave him alone—take no notice of him,” said Lettie, lifting him into the chimney seat, with the basin of bread and milk beside him. Emily fetched the two kittens out of their basket and put them too beside him. “I wonder how many eggs he’d got,” said the father, laughing softly. “Hush!” said Lettie. “When do you think you will go to Canada, Mr. Saxton?” “_Next_ spring—it’s no good going before.” “And then you’ll marry?” asked Lettie of George. “Before then—oh, before then,” he said. “Why—how is it you are suddenly in such a hurry?—when will it be?” “When are you marrying?” he asked in reply. “I don’t know,” she said, coming to a full stop. “Then I don’t know,” he said, taking a large wedge of cheese and biting a piece from it. “It was fixed for June,” she said, recovering herself at his suggestion of hope. “July!” said Emily. “Father!” said he, holding the piece of cheese up before him as he spoke—he was evidently nervous: “Would you advise me to marry Meg?” His father started, and said: “Why, was you thinking of doing?” “Yes—all things considered.” “Well—if she suits you——” “We’re cousins——” “If you want her, I suppose you won’t let that hinder you. She’ll have a nice bit of money, and if you like her——” “I like her all right—I shan’t go out to Canada with her though. I shall stay at the Ram—for the sake of the life.” “It’s a poor life, that!” said the father, ruminating. George laughed. “A bit mucky!” he said—“But it’ll do. It would need Cyril or Lettie to keep me alive in Canada.” It was a bold stroke—everybody was embarrassed. “Well,” said the father, “I suppose we can’t have everything we want—we generally have to put up with the next best thing—don’t we, Lettie?”—he laughed. Lettie flushed furiously. “I don’t know,” she said. “You can generally get what you want if you want it badly enough. Of course—if you _don’t mind_——” She rose and went across to Sam.