His mother kissed him again, diverted by his words, which recalled her own girlhood frolics. Hadn't she many times tumbled the length of the lane, while Daddy Skinner had stood and watched her indulgently? Her arms about the boy, she allowed her eyes to rest for a moment on the hut at the lake side. Tessibel loved the shanty and always would love it, but more did she love the home in which she now lived. Her fingers played idly with the child's dark curls. All that Deforrest Young had done for her in the past years swept before her mind like a panorama. How safe he'd made it for Andy! How the little man had improved! How delightful their studies together! They constantly looked forward to that day when they should be able to return to their friend some of the generosity he had shown them. Now he was coming home after an absence of many weeks, and the three were awaiting his arrival. "Run up to Andy, darling," Tess said to the child, "and let him wash your face and hands, and put on another blouse, my pet. Oh, there 're grass stains on this one, too." A trembling, rosy mouth turned up to the speaker. She kissed it quickly and passionately. "Never mind, honey, just run along. Mummy doesn't care.... There, kiss me again." Two loving arms went quickly around the mother's neck. "Boy loves his pretty mummy," was whispered in her ear. "And mummy loves her pretty boy. There! Run along to Andy. I want to gather some flowers for Uncle Forrie." Andy was studying at a table, when the door opened and the dark-faced boy popped into the room. "Mummy says wash Boy's face and put on clean blouse," said he. "Please, Andy. I forgot to say 'please'!" Andy pushed back his chair and waddled to the child. The dwarf was the same ungainly figure that had moved about the hut four years before. His face had lost all its tightly strung misery and his expression was more thoughtful and he seemed more manly. Boy was a continual joy to him. The little fellow supplied an outlet for his overflowing love. True, he adored Tessibel, but his care of the little one had drawn them together so intimately that he and the baby boy thoroughly understood each other. He'd have liked to romp with the child under the trees and to row him up and down the quiet span of blue water, but grateful for the love and protection he'd found in Young's home, he seldom permitted his mind to dwell upon the hardships necessarily incident to his secluded life. Just now a little sense of discouragement touched his thought and clouded his face. While he was washing Boy's chubby fingers, the little one observed him closely. "There's tears in your eyes," he burst out suddenly. "What for, Andy?" "I was just thinkin,' pet." The child thrust his feet apart and flung up an entreating face. "I don't want you to think if it makes you cry." "All right, sir!" Andy replied promptly, tickling the youngster till he laughed and shouted, "I won't think any more if you don't like it."