‘Oh! is it real? Is he well?’
‘Perfectly well! Only sleepy. Strong, grown, well cared for.’
‘My boy, my boy,’ and she felt him all over, gazed at the rosy face whenever a tantalising flash of lamplight permitted, then kissed and kissed, till the boy awoke more fully, with another ‘Mamma! Mamma,’ putting his hand to feel for her chain, as
if to identify her. Then with a coo of content, ‘Mite has papa and mamma,’ and he seemed under the necessity of feeling them both.
Only at their own door did those happy people even recollect Lady Adela, with shame and dismay, which did not last long, for she came on them, laughing with pleasure, and saying it was just what she had intended, while Mite was recognising his Amy and his Conny, and being nearly devoured by them.
He still was rather confused by the strange house. ‘It’s not home,’ he said, staring round, and blinking at the lights; ‘and where’s my big horse?’
‘You shall soon go home to the big horse—and Nurse Eden, poor nurse shall come to you, my own.’
To which Michael responded, holding out a plump leg and foot for admiration. ‘I can do mine own socks and bootses now, and wash mine own hands and face.’
Nevertheless, he was quite sleepy enough to be very happy and content to be carried off to his mother’s bedroom, where he sat enthroned on her lap, Constance feeding him with bread and milk, while Amice held the bowl, and the maid, almost equally blissful, hovered round, and there again he sat with the two admiring girls one at each foot, disrobing him, as best they might.
Nearly asleep at last, he knelt at his mother’s knee with the murmured prayer, but woke just enough to say, ‘Mite needn’t say “make papa better,” nor “bring Mite home.”‘