The old dame wished us good day; but as she turned to go an impulse seized her. She crossed to where Babette, ashamed, yet half defiant, sat a wet, woeful little image on the hearthrug, stooped and lifted the little creature in her thin, worn arms. “It’s trouble you’ve brought yourself,” said the old dame. “You couldn’t help it, could you?” Babette’s little pink tongue stole out. “We understand, we know—we Mothers,” they seemed to be saying to one another. And so the two kissed. * * * * * I think the terrace will be my favourite spot. Ethelbertha thinks, too, that on sunny days she will like to sit there. From it, through an opening I have made in the trees, I can see the cottage just a mile away at the edge of the wood. Young Bute tells me it is the very place he has been looking for. Most of his time, of course, he has to pass in town, but his Fridays to Mondays he likes to spend in the country. Maybe I shall hand it over to him. St. Leonard’s chimneys we can also see above the trees. Dick tells me he has quite made up his mind to become a farmer. He thinks it would be a good plan, for a beginning, to go into partnership with St. Leonard. It is not unlikely that St. Leonard’s restless temperament may prompt him eventually to tire of farming. He has a brother in Canada doing well in the lumber business, and St. Leonard often talks of the advantages of the colonies to a man who is bringing up a large family. I shall be sorry to lose him as a neighbour; though I see the advantages, under certain possibilities, of Mrs. St. Leonard’s address being Manitoba. Veronica also thinks the terrace may come to be her favourite resting-place. “I suppose,” said Veronica, “that if anything was to happen to Robina, everything would fall on me.” “It would be a change, Veronica,” I suggested. “Hitherto it is you who have done most of the falling.” “Suppose I’ve got to see about growing up,” said Veronica. * * * * * THE END.