"It is such a pretty book, Roland."
"All right. Don't you make a noise, Nelly."
"Margaret went to heaven in the book: she was buried under the great yew tree," whispered Kelly. "Papa's going there."
Roland caught the little head to him, and bent his face on the golden hair. He knew that what she said was true: but it was a shock nevertheless to have it repeated openly to him even by this young child.
"Papa talks to me about it. It will be so beautiful; he will never be tired there, or have any sorrow or pain. Oh, Roland; I wish I was going with him!"
Her eyes were filled with tears as she looked up; Roland's were filled in sympathy. He had cried like a schoolboy more than once of late. All on a sudden, happening to glance across, he saw Hamish looking on with a smile.
"You be off, Nelly," said arbitrary Roland, carrying her to the door and shutting it upon her and her book. "I'm sure your tea must be ready in the nursery."
"Don't grieve, Roland," said Hamish, when he sat down again.
"I wish you could get well," returned Roland, seeing the fire through a mist.
"And I have nearly ceased to wish it, Roland. It's all for the best."