Mr. O'Rourke turned his head and listened. "Who comes from Dublin?" he asked.
"It's Bridget, our nurse when Baby is here and our cook just now,"
Prudence answered. "She's feeling homesick. She does sometimes."
"So do I," said Mr. O'Rourke. "It's a long time since I've seen the bay o' Dublin. I must shake hands with Bridget."
Mollie gazed earnestly at Mr. O'Rourke. Was he Aunt Mary's long-ago lover? No—he was too old. He must be twenty-two at least. But she felt almost sure that somehow he had something to do with that romance.
As they stood at the white gate later on, saying good-bye, their new friend pulled a round white stone out of one of his many pockets. "Shall I keep this or shall I give it to you?" he asked Hugh.
There was a curious silence as the children gathered round to gaze at the innocent-looking missile in Mr. O'Rourke's hand. It was little the worse of its adventure—slightly chipped and scratched, and on one side an ominous red stain which made Hugh shiver and turn pale again, as it reminded him how nearly his thoughtlessness had cost a life.
"Give it to me," he said at last. "I will write the date on it, and if it doesn't remind me to think twice, nothing will, and I will deserve to be hanged."
"Very well," agreed Mr. O'Rourke, "only remember that the red stain is only what I told you it was."
"I'll remember," said Hugh, holding the stone in his hand and looking gravely down at it, "but I won't forget that it might have been what I thought it was."
Grizzel's solemn round eyes went from one to the other during this transaction. "Is that what it means in books when it says, 'marked with a white stone'?" she asked Hugh.