Come back to find your own.A stone bench, sunk unevenly in the loose soil, stood near thefountain in the shade of the great elms, and here two women weresitting. One of them was Mary Moore, the doctor's wife, from thevillage, a charming little figure in her gingham gown and wide hat.The other was Jean Carolan, wife of the estate's owner, and motherof Peter, the last Carolan.Jean was a beautiful woman, glowing with the bloom of her earlythirties. Her eyes were moving contentedly over house and garden.She gave Mrs. Moore's hand a sudden impulsive pressure. "Well, herewe are, Mary!" she said, smiling, "just as we always used to plan atSt. Mary's--keeping house in the country near each other, andbringing up our children together!""I never forgot those plans of ours," said the doctor's wife, hereyes full of pleasant reminiscence. "But here I've been, nearlyeleven years, duly keeping house and raising four small babies in arow. And what about you? You've been gadding all over Europe--nevera word about coming home to Carolan Hall until this year!""I know," said Mrs. Carolan, with a charming air of apology. "Oh, Iknow! But Sid had to hunt up his references abroad, you know, andthen there was that hideous legal delay. I really have been franticto settle down somewhere, for years. And as for poor Peter! Theunfortunate baby has been farmed out in Italy, and boarded in Rome,and flung into English sanitariums, just as need arose! The marvelis he's not utterly ruined. But Peter's unique--you'll love him!""Who's he like, Jean?""Oh, Sidney! He's Carolan all through." With the careless words athin veil of shadow fell across her bright face, and there came along silence.Carolan Hall! Jean had never seen it before to-day. Looking at thegarden, and the trees, and the roof that showed beyond, she felt asif she had not truly seen it until this minute. All its gloomyhistory, half forgotten, lightly brushed aside, came back to herslowly now. This was the home of her husband's shadowed childhood;it was here that those terrible events had taken place of which hehad so seriously told her before their wedding day.Here old Peter Carolan, her little Peter's great-grandfather, hadcome with his two dark boys and his silent wife, eighty yearsbefore. A cruel, passionate man he must have been, for storiespresently crept about the county of the whippings that kept his boysobedient to him. Rumor presently had an explanation of the wife'sshadowed life. There had been a third boy, the first-born, whom nowhippings could make obedient. That boy was dead.The day came when old Peter's blooded mare refused him obedience,too, and stood trembling and mutinous before the bars he would havehad her take. He presently had his way, and the lovely, frightenedcreature went bravely over. But after that he rode her at that fenceday after day, and sometimes the wood rang for an hour with hisshouting and urging before she would essay the leap. While he forcedher, Madam Carolan sat at the one library window that gave on theroad, and knotted her hands together and waited. She waited, onegusty March evening, until the shouting stopped, and the bewilderedmare came trotting riderless into view. Then she and the maids ranto the wood. But even after that she still sat at that window at theend of every day, a familiar figure to all who came and went uponthe road.The sons, Sidney and Laurence, grew up together, passionate,devoted, and widely loved. Sidney married and went away for a fewyears; but presently he came back to his mother and brother,bringing with him the motherless little Sidney who was Jean's sunnybig husband now. This younger Sidney well remembered the day--andhad once told his wife of it--when his father and his uncle fell tosudden quarrelling in their boat, during a morning's fishing on theplacid river. He remembered, a small watcher on the bank, that theboat upset, and that, when his uncle reached the shore, it was towork unavailingly for hours over his father's silent form, whichnever moved again. The boy was sent away for a while, but came backto find his uncle a silent, morose shadow, pacing the lonely gardenin unassailable solitude, or riding his horse for hours in the greatwoods. Sometimes the little fellow would sit with his grandmother inthe library window, where she watched and waited. Always, as he wentabout the garden and yards, he would look for her there, and wavehis cap to her. He missed her, in his unexpressed little-boyfashion, when she sat there no longer, although she had always beensilent and reserved with him. Then came his years of school andtravel, and in one of them he learned that the Hall was quite emptynow. Sidney meant to go back, just to turn over the old books, andopen the old doors, and walk the garden paths again; but, somehow,he had never come until to-day. And now that he had come, he, andJean, and Peter, too, wanted to stay.Jean sighed."You knew Madam Carolan, didn't you, Mary?""No--no, I didn't," said Mrs. Moore, coloring uneasily. "I've seenher, though, as a small girl, at the window. I used to visitBilly's--my husband's--people when we were both small, you know, andwe often came to these woods.""I've been thinking of the house and its cheerful history," saidJean, with a little shudder. "Sweet heritage for Peterkin!""Heritage--nonsense!" said the other woman, hardily. "Every onetells me that your husband is the gentlest and finest of them all--and his father was before him. I don't believe such things comedown, anyway.""Well," smiled Sidney's wife, a little proudly, "I've never seen theCarolan temper in the nine years we've been married!""Exactly. Besides, it's not a temper--just strong will.""Sidney has will enough," mused Jean."Oh, all men have," said the doctor's wife contentedly. "Billy, now!He won't stand a locked door. One night--I never shall forget!--thechildren locked themselves in the nursery, and Will simply burst thedoor in. Nobody makes a fuss or worries over that!"If the illustration was beside the point, neither woman perceivedit."There, you see!" said Jean, glad to be quite sure of conviction."It never really worries me," she added, after a moment, "for Peteradores his father, and is only too eager to obey him. If Peter--andit's impossible!--ever did really work himself up to disobedience,why, I suppose he'd get a thrashing,"--she made a wry face,--"andthey'd love each other all the more for it.""Of course they would," agreed the other cheerfully."There must have been some way in which Madam Carolan could havemanaged them," pursued Jean, thoughtfully. "The women of thatgeneration were a poor-spirited lot, I imagine. One isn't quite achild!" There was another little pause in the hot murmuring silenceof the garden, and then, with a sudden change of manner, she rose toher feet. "Mary! come and meet Sidney and the kiddy!" she commanded."Well, I rather hoped you were going to present them," said Mrs.Moore, rising too, and gathering up sunshade and gloves.They threaded the silent garden paths again, passed the house, andcrossed a neglected stable yard, where a great red motor-car hadcrushed a path for itself across dry grass and weeds. In the stableitself they found Sidney Carolan, the little Peter, and a couple ofservants--the chauffeur with oily hands, and the wrinkled oldItalian maid, very gay in scarlet gown and headdress.Jean's husband had all the Carolan beauty and charm, and was hismost gracious and radiant self to-day. His sunny cordiality gaveMary no chance to remember that she had a little feared the writerand critic. But, after the first moment, her eye was irresistiblydrawn to the child.Tawny-haired, erect, and astonishing in the perfection of hischildish beauty, Peter Carolan advanced her a bronzed, firm littlehand, and gave her with it a smile that seemed all brilliant color--white teeth, ocean-blue eyes, and poppied cheeks. His square littlefigure was very boyish in the thin silk shirt and baggyknickerbockers, and a wide hat, slipping from his yellow mane, addeda last debonair touch to his picturesque little person. He wasflushed, but gracious and at ease."You're one of the reasons we came!" he said in a rich little voice--when his mother's "You've heard me speak of Mrs. Moore, Peter?" hadintroduced them. "You have boys, too, haven't you?""I have three," said Mrs. Moore, in the rational, unhurried tonethat only very clever people use to children. "Billy is nine, Georgeseven, Jack is three; and then there's a girl--my Mary.""I come next to Billy," calculated little Peter, his eyes veryeager."You and he will like each other, I hope," said Billy's mother."I hope we will--I hope so!" he assented vivaciously. "I've beenthinking so!"Mrs. Carolan presently suggested that he go off with Betta to packthe luncheon things in the car, and the three watched his sturdy,erect little figure out of sight. Mrs. Moore heard his gay voicebreak into ready Italian as they went.A horde of workmen took possession of Carolan Hall a few days later,and for happy weeks Jean and Mary followed and directed them. TheMoore children and Peter Carolan explored every fascinating inch ofhouse and garden. Linen and china were unpacked, old furniturepolished, and old paintings restored.Mrs. Moore, with her two oldest sons frolicking about her likeexcited puppies, came up to Carolan Hall one exquisite morning amonth later. Brush fires were burning in the thinning woods, and theblue, fragrant smoke drifted in thin veils across the sunlight.A visit to the circus was afoot, and Peter Carolan, seated on theporch steps in the full glory of starched blue linen and tansandals, leaped up to join his friends in a war-dance of wildanticipation.Jean came out, also starched and radiant, kissed her guests, piledsome wraps into the waiting motor, and engineered the group into theshaded dining-room, where the excited children were somehow to becoaxed into eating their luncheon. Sidney came in late, to smile atthem all from the top of the table.It was rapidly dawning on the adult consciousness that, above everyother sound, the voices of the children were really reachinginexcusable heights, when a burst of laughter and a brief strugglebetween Peter and Billy Moore resulted in an overturned mug, theusual rapidly spreading pool of milk, and the usual recklessmopping. Peter's silver mug fell to the floor, and rolled to thesideboard, where it lay against the carved mahogany base, winking inthe sun."Peter!" said Jean, severely. "No, don't ring, Sidney! He did thatby his own carelessness, and mother can't ask poor, busy Julia topick up things for boys who are noisy and rude at the table. Go pickup your mug, dear!""Yes. Quite right!" approved Sidney, under his breath.Peter, who had been laughing violently a moment before seemed ratherinclined to regard the incident as a tribute to his own brilliancy.He caught his heels in a rung of his chair, raised himself to astanding position, and turned a bright little face to his mother."But--but--but what if I don't want to pick it up, mother?" he saidgayly.The little Moore boys, still bubbling, giggled outright, and Peter'scheeks grew pink. He was innocently elated with this new role ofclown."What do you mean?" said Sidney's big voice, very quietly. There wasa pause. Peter slowly turned his eyes toward his father."Oh, please, Sidney!" said Jean, a shade impatiently. "He thinks hehas some reason." She turned to Peter. "What do you mean, dear?" sheasked pleasantly.Peter looked about the group. He was confused and excited at findinghimself so suddenly the centre of attention."Well--well--why are you all looking at me?" he asked in hisconfident little treble, with his baffling smile."Dearie, did you hear mother tell you to get quietly down and pickup your mug?" demanded Jean, authoritatively."Well--well, you know, I don't want to, mother, because Billy and Iwere both reaching for that mug," drawled Peter, "and maybe it wasBilly who--""Now, look here, son!" said his father, controlling his impatiencewith difficulty, "we've had enough of this! You do it because yourmother told you to, and you do it right now!""And don't let anything spoil this happy day," pleaded Jean's tendervoice."Can't I let it stay there, mother?" suggested Peter, brilliantly,"and have my milk in a glass? I don't want my mug! It can just liethere--"His mother unsmilingly interrupted this pleasantly offered solution."Peter! Father and mother are waiting.""Gee--I'll pick it up!" said Billy Moore, good-naturedly, slippingto the floor.Sidney reached for the little boy, and brought him to anchor in thecurve of his big arm, without once glancing at him."Thank you, Billy," he said, "but Peter will pick it up himself.Now, Peter! We don't care who knocked it down, or whose fault itwas. Your mother told you to pick up your mug, and we are waiting tohave you do it. Don't talk about it any more. Nobody thinks it is atall smart or funny for boys to disobey their mothers!""It will take you just one second, dear," interpolated Jean softly,"and then we will all go upstairs and get ready, and forget allabout it.""Just a little too much c-i-r-c-u-s!" spelled Mrs. Moore, in thepause."Pick it up, son!" said Sidney, very calm.Peter stopped smiling. He breathed hard and took a firm hold of hischair."Go on. Go ahead!" said his father, briskly, encouragingly.The child moved his eyes from the mug to his father's face, but didnot stir."Peter?" said Sidney. A white line had come about his mouth.For a long moment there was not a sound in the rooms. Julia stoodtransfixed at the door. Mrs. Moore's eyes were on her plate. Jean'slips were shut tight; she was breathing as if she had been running."I won't!" said Peter, simply, with a quick breath."Sid!" said Jean, hurriedly. "Sidney!""Just a moment, Jean," said her husband, without glancing at her."You will do it now, or have father punish you to make you do it,"he said to the boy. "Father can't have boys here who don't obey, youknow. Every one obeys. Soldiers have to, engineers have to, evenanimals have to. Are you going to do what mother told you to?""No," said little Peter. "I said I wouldn't, and now I won't!""He is hot and excited now," said Jean, quickly, in French, "butI'll take him upstairs and quiet him down. He'll come to his senses.Leave him to me, dear!""Much the wisest thing to do, Sidney," supplemented Mrs. Moore, inthe same tongue."Certainly!" said his father, coldly. "Give him time. Let himunderstand that if he doesn't obey, it means no circus. That'sreasonable, I think, Jean?""Oh, perfectly! Perfectly!" Mrs. Carolan assented nervously. Nothingmore was said as she took the boy's hand and led him away. Theothers heard Peter chatting cheerfully as he mounted the stairway amoment later."The boys and I will go down and look at Nellie's puppies," saidMrs. Moore, acutely uncomfortable.Her host muttered something about closing his mail."But are we going to the circus?" fretted little George Moore. Hismother hardly heard him.A moment later, Julia, the maid, appealed to her submissively."Shall you pick up the cup?" repeated the doctor's wife. "No. No,indeed, I wouldn't, Julia. Yes, you can clear the table, I think;we've all finished."She led her sons down to the fascinating realm of dogs and horses,vaguely uneasy, yet unwilling to admit her fears. An endless warmhalf hour crept by. Then, glancing toward the house, she saw Sidneyand Jean deep in conversation on the porch, and a moment laterSidney came to find her.The boy was obstinate, he told her briefly--adding, with a look inhis kind eyes that was quite new to her, that Peter had met hismatch, and would realize it sooner or later. Mary protested againstthere being any further talk of the circus that day, but Sidneywould not refuse the disappointed eyes of the small Moores. In theend, the doctor's family went off alone in the motor-car."Don't worry, Mary," said Sidney, kindly, as he tucked her incomfortably. "Peter's had nothing but women and servants so far. Nowhe's got to learn to obey!""But such a baby, Sidney!" she reminded him."He's older than I was, Mary, when my poor father and Uncle Larry--""Yes--yes, I know!" she assented hurriedly. "Good-by!""Good-by!" repeated a hardy little voice from an upper window. Marylooked up to see Peter, composed and smiling, looking down from thenursery sill.All the next day, and the next, Mary Moore's thoughts were at theHall. She told her husband all about it on the afternoon of thesecond day, for no word or sign had come from Jean, and real anxietybegan to haunt her. She and the doctor were roaming about theirpretty, shabby garden, Mrs. Moore's little hand, where she loved tohave it, in the crook of his big arm. The doctor, stoppingoccasionally to shake a rose post with his free hand, or to break adead blossom from its stalk, scowled through the recital, even whilecontentedly enjoying his wife, his garden, and his pipe.Before he could make a definite comment, they were interrupted bySidney himself, who brought his big riding horse up close to thefence and waved his whip with a shout of greeting. The doctor wentto meet him, Mary, a little pale, following."Good day to you!" said Sidney Carolan, baring his head without asmile. "I'm bound to Barville; my editor is there for a few days,and I may have to dine with him. I stopped to ask if Mary would runin and see Jean this afternoon. She's feeling a little down.""Of course I will!" said Mary, heartily.There was a pause."Mary's told you that we're having an ugly time with the boy?" saidSidney, then, combing his horse's mane with big gloved fingers."Too bad!" said the doctor, shaking his head and pursing his lips."No change, Sidney?" Mary asked gravely."No. No, I think the little fellow is rather gratified by the stirhe's making. He--oh, Lord knows what he thinks!""Give him a good licking," suggested the doctor."Oh, I'd lick him fast enough, Bill, if that would bring him round!"his father said, scowling. "But suppose I do, and it leaves thingsjust where they are now? That's all I can do, and he knows it. Hismother has talked to him; I've talked to him." He looked frowninglyat the seam of his glove. "Well, I mustn't bother you. He's aCarolan, I suppose--that's all!""And you're a Carolan," said the doctor."And I'm a Carolan," assented the other, briefly.Mary found Jean, serious and composed over her sewing, on the coolnorth veranda. When they had talked awhile, they went up to seePeter, who was sprawled on the floor, busy with hundreds of leadensoldiers. He was no longer gay; there was rather a strained lookabout his beautiful babyish eyes. But at Jean's one allusion to theunhappy affair, he flushed and said with nervous decision:"Please don't, mother! You know I am sorry; you know I just can't!""He has all his books and toys?" said Mary when they went downstairsagain."Oh, yes! Sidney doesn't want him to be sick. He's just to be shutup on bread and milk until he gives in. I must say, I think Sid isvery gentle," said Jean, leaning back wearily in her chair, withclosed eyes. Her voice dropped perceptibly as she added, "But hesays he is going to thrash him to-morrow.""I think he ought to," said Mary Moore, sturdily. "This isn'texcitement or showing off any more; it's sheer naughty obstinacyover a perfectly simple demand!""Oh, but I couldn't bear it!" whispered Jean, with a shudder. Amoment later she added sensibly, "But he's right, of course; Sidneyalways is."Peter was duly whipped the next day. It was no light punishment thatSidney gave his son. Jean's gold-mounted riding-crop had never seenseverer service. The maids, with paling cheeks, gathered together inthe kitchen when Sidney went slowly upstairs with the whip in hishand; and Betta and her mistress, their hands over their ears,endured a very agony while the little boy's cries rang through thehouse. Sidney went for a long and lonely walk afterward, and laterJean went to her son.Mrs. Moore heard of this event from her husband, who stopped at theHall late that evening, and found Peter asleep, and Jean restlessand headachy. He spent a long and almost silent hour pacing the roseterrace with Sidney in the cool dark. Late into the night the doctorand his wife lay wakeful, discussing affairs at the Hall.After some hesitation, Mrs. Moore went the next day to find Jean.There was no sound as she approached the house, and she steppedtimidly into the big hall, listening for voices. Presently she wentsoftly to the dining-room, and stood in the doorway. The room wasempty. But Mary's heart rose with a throb of thanksgiving. Peter'ssilver mug was in its place on the sideboard. She went swiftly tothe pantry where Julia was cleaning the silver."Julia!" she said eagerly, softly, "I notice that the baby's cup isback. Did he give in?"The maid, who had started at the interruption, shook her headgravely."No'm. Mrs. Carolan picked it up.""Mrs. Carolan?""Yes'm. She seemed quite wildlike this morning," went on the maid,with the simple freemasonry of troubled times, "and after Peter wentoff with Mrs. Butler, she--""Oh, he went off? Did his father let him go?" Mary's voice was fullof relief. Mrs. Butler was Jean's cousin, a cheery matron who hadtaken a summer cottage at Broadsands, twenty miles away.Julia's color rose; she looked uneasy."Mr. Carolan had to go to Barville quite early," she evadeduncomfortably, "and when Mrs. Butler asked could she take Peter, hismother said yes, she could.""Thank you," Mary said pleasantly, but her heart was heavy. She wentslowly upstairs to find Jean.Peter's mother was lying in a darkened bedroom, and the face sheturned to the door at Mary's entrance was shockingly white. Theyexchanged a long pressure of fingers."Headache, Jean, dear?""Oh, and heartache!" said Jean, with a pitiful smile. "Sid thrashedhim yesterday!" she added, with suddenly trembling lips."I know." Mary sat down on the edge of the bed and patted Jean'shand."I've let him go with Alice," said Jean, defensively. "I had to!"She turned on her elbow, her voice rising. "Mary, I didn't say oneword about the whipping, but now--now he threatens to hold him underthe stable pump!" she finished, dropping back wearily against herpillows. Mrs. Moore caught her breath."Ah!" They eyed each other sombrely."Mary, would you permit it?" demanded Mrs. Carolan, miserably."Jeanie, dearest, I don't know what I'd do!"After a long silence, Mary slipped from the bedside and wentnoiselessly to the door and down the stairs, vague ideas of hot teain mind. In the dining-room she was surprised to find Sidney,looking white and exhausted, and mixing himself something at thesideboard."I'm glad you're with Jean," he said directly. "I'm off to get theboy! The car is to be brought round in a few minutes."Mrs. Moore went to him, and laid her fingers on his arm."Sidney!" she protested sharply, "you must stop this--not for Peter;he's as naughty as he can be, like all other boys his age sometimes;but you don't want to kill Jean!" And, to her self-contempt, shebegan to cry."My dear girl," he said concernedly, "you mustn't take this mattertoo hard. Jean knows enough of our family history to realize--""All that is such nonsense!" she protested angrily. But she saw thathe was not listening. He compared his watch with the big dining-roomclock, and then, quite as mechanically picked Peter's mug from thegroup of bowls and flagons on the sideboard, studied the chasingabsently for a moment, and, stooping, placed the mug just as it hadfallen four days before. Mary watched as if fascinated.A moment later she ran upstairs, her heart thundering with a senseof her own daring. She entered the dark bedroom hurriedly, andleaned over Jean."Jean! Jean, I hate to tell you! But Sidney's going to leave in afew minutes to bring Peter home. He's going after him."She had to repeat the message before the meaning of it flashed intothe heavy eyes so near her own. Then Jean gathered her filmy gowntogether, and ran to the door."He shall not!" she said, panting, and Mary heard her imperativecall, "Sidney! Sidney!" as she ran downstairs. Then she heard boththeir voices.With an intolerable consciousness of eavesdropping, Mrs. Mooreslipped out of the house by the servants' quarters, and crossed thedrying lawn at the back of the house, to gain the old grape arborbeyond. She sat there with burning cheeks and a fast-beating heart,and gazed with unseeing eyes down the valley.Presently she heard the horn and the scraping start of the motor-car, and a moment later it swept into view on the road below. Sidneywas its only occupant.Mrs. Moore sat there thinking a long while. Dull clouds bankedthemselves in the west, and the rising breeze brought dead leavesabout her feet.She sat there half an hour--an hour. The afternoon was darkeningtoward dusk when she saw the motorcar again still a mile away. Evenat this distance, Mary could see that Peter was sitting beside hisfather in the tonneau, and that the little figure was as erect andunyielding as the big one.She rose to her feet and stood watching the car as it curved andturned on the winding road that led to the gates of Carolan Hall.Even when the gates were entered, both figures still faced straightahead.Suddenly Sidney leaned toward the chauffeur, and a moment later thecar came to a full stop. Mary watched, mystified. Then Sidney gotout, and stretched a hand to the boy to help him from his place. Thesimple little motion, all fatherly, brought the tears to her eyes. Amoment later the driver wheeled the car about, to take it to thegarage by the rear roadway, and Sidney and his son began to walkslowly toward the house, the child's hand still in his father's.Once or twice they stopped short, and once Mary saw Sidney pointtoward the house, and saw, from the turn of Peter's head, that hiseyes were following his father's. Her heart rose with a wild,unreasoning hope.When a dip in the road hid them, Mary turned toward the house, notknowing whether to go to Jean or to slip away through the wood. Butthe instant her eye fell on Madam Carolan's window she knew what hadhalted Sidney, and a wave of heartsickness made her breath comeshort.Jean had taken her place there, to watch and wait. She was keepingthe first vigil of her life. Mary could see how the slight figuredrooped in the carved chair; she remembered, with a pang, the otherpatient, drooping figure that had stamped itself upon her childishmemory so many years ago. The suffocating tears rose in her throat.A sudden sense of helplessness overwhelmed her.Obviously, the watcher had not seen Sidney and Peter. Her head wasresting on her hand, and her heavy eyes were fixed upon some sombreinner vision that was hers alone.Mary crossed behind the house, and, as they came up through theshrubbery, met Sidney and his son at the side door. Sidney's facewas tired, but radiant with a mysterious content. Peter lookedwhite--awed. He was clinging with both small brown hands to one ofhis father's firm, big ones."I know what you're going to say, Mary," said Sidney, in a tonecuriously gentle, and with his oddly bright smile. "I know she'sthere. But we're going to her now, and it's all right. Peter and Ihave been talking it over. I saw her there, Mary, and it was like ablow! She's not the one who must suffer for all this. Peter and Iare going to start all over again, and settle our troubles withouthurting a woman; aren't we, Peter?"The little boy nodded, with his eyes fixed on his father's."So the episode is closed, Mary," said Sidney, simply. "And the nexttime--if there is a next time!--Peter shall make his own decision,and abide by what it brings. The mug goes back to its place to-night, and--and we're going to tell mother that she never need watchand wait and worry about us again!"They turned to the steps; but, as the boy ran ahead, Sidney cameback to say in a lower tone:"I--it may be weakness, Mary, but I can't have Jean doing what--whatshe did, you know! I tried to give the boy some idea, just now, ofthe responsibility of it. Nobody spared my grandmother, but Jeanshall be spared, if I never try to control him or save him fromhimself again!""Ah, Sidney," Mary said, "you have done more, in taking him intoyour confidence, than any amount of punishing could do!""Well, we'll see!" he said, with a weary little shrug. "I must go toJeanie now."As he mounted the steps, Peter reappeared in the darkened doorway.The child looked like a little knight, with his tawny loose mop ofhair and short tunic, and the uplifted look in his lovely eyes."Shall we go to her now, Dad?" said the little treble gallantly.And, as the boy came close to Sidney's side, Mary saw the silver mugglitter in his hand.
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