"I don't see why," said Tessa rebelliously, "not if He hasn't given them good ones. Mine isn't good. She's very, very bad."
"Then there's all the more reason to pray for her," said Bernard. "It's the least you can do. But I don't think you ought to say that of your mother, you know, even if you think it. It isn't loyal."
"What's loyal?" said Tessa.
"Loyalty is being true to any one—not telling tales about them. It's about the only thing I learnt at school worth knowing." Bernard smiled at her in his large way. "Never tell tales of anyone, Princess!" he said. "It isn't cricket. Now look here! I've an awfully interesting piece of news for you. Come quite close, and I'll whisper. Do you know—last night—when Aunt Stella was lying ill, something happened. An angel came to see her."
"An angel!" Tessa's eyes grew round with wonder, and bluer than the bluest bluebell. "What was he like?" she whispered breathlessly. "Did you see him?"
"No, I didn't. I think it was a she," Bernard whispered back. "And what do you think she brought? But you'll never guess."
"Oh, what?" gasped Tessa, trembling.
Bernard's arm slipped round her, and Scooter with a sudden violent effort freed himself, and was gone.
"Never mind! I can get him again," said Tessa. "Or Peter will. Tell me—quick!"
"She brought—" Bernard was speaking softly into her ear—-"a little boy-baby. Think of that! A present straight from God!"