“Bless the wee laddie!” exclaimed Margaret in the broad soft accent of Inverness, of which lovely town she was a proud native; and down she flopped on her knees, already the willing worshipper of one small child’s winsomeness. “And a grand time ye’ll have of it, I’m thinking, if ye’re as good as ye’re bonnie! Come away wi’ me now and I’ll wash ye’r bit handies and put on anither suit,” for her quick eye had perceived the brown paper parcel while her quick mind had guessed its contents. “And what time will he be for bed, mem?”
“What time do you go to bed, Boy?” asked Miss Letty, caressing his curls.
“Eight klock!” responded Boy promptly; “Gerty puts me in barf and zen in bed.”
Both Miss Leslie and her maid laughed.
“Well, it will be just the same to-night,” said ‘Kiss-Letty’ gaily; “only it will be Margaret instead of Gerty. But it’s a long way off eight o’clock,—you go with Margaret now, and she will bring you back to me in the drawing-room, and there you shall see some pictures.”
Boy smiled at the prospect,—he was ready for anything now. He put his hand trustfully in that of Margaret, merely observing in a casual sort of way—
“Dunny tum wiz me.”
Margaret looked round enquiringly.
“He means his Cow,” explained Miss Letty, taking that animal from its velvet pasture-land and handing it to her maid, who received it quite respectfully. “Just remember, Margaret, will you, that he likes the Cow on his bed! It sleeps with him always.”
Mistress and maid exchanged a laughing glance, and then Boy trotted off. Miss Letty watched him slowly stumping up her handsome staircase, holding on to Margaret’s hand and chattering all the way, and a sudden haze of tears blinded her sight. What she had missed in her life!—what she had missed! She thought of it with no selfish regret, but only a little aching pain, and even now she stilled that pain with a prayer—a prayer that though God had not seen fit to bless her with the love of husband or children she might still be of use in the world,—of use perchance if only to shield and benefit this one little human life of Boy’s which had attracted so much of her interest and affection. And with this thought, dismissing her tears, she went up to her own room, changed her walking dress for a graceful tea-gown of black Chantilly lace which clothed her slender figure with becoming ease and dignity, and went into her drawing-room, where, near the French window which opened into a beautiful conservatory, stood a bluff, big gentleman with a white moustache, chirruping tenderly to a plump bullfinch, which made no secret of the infinite surprise it felt at such strange attempts to imitate melodious warbling. Miss Leslie uttered a low exclamation of pleasure.