Which was true. Mr. Stewart was delighted with Bessie, and perhaps even more delighted with her child—a fine, sturdy young fellow, who, riding on Nep, encountered Mr. Stewart one day in Berrie Down.
“What is your name, my little man?” asked the bachelor, stopping him and his nurse, Priscilla.
“Mamma says, I’m a young Turk,” was the answer. “What’s yours?”
“Oh! I’m an old Turk!” replied Mr. Stewart; whereupon the child burst out laughing; and, striking Nep with his heels, the dog broke into a sling-trot and bore Master Douglas off to Berrie Down.
“He only told you the truth, sir,” said Priscilla, before she started off in pursuit; “he’s an awful young Turk.”
In due time, Mr. Stewart reached the Hollow, where he found Lord Kemms, who was decidedly smitten by Agnes; and they all spent the evening talking quietly together while the sun sank into the west, and bathed the whole country lying exposed to his beams in a glory of crimson and purple and gold.
“I have brought you a little present, Heather,” Mr. Stewart said, drawing near the sofa she occupied. “It is the custom for godfathers to give their godchildren little presents occasionally, and I fear I have been somewhat neglectful of you. Open it when I am gone,” and he slipped a parcel into her hand.
But Heather, with a pretty wilfulness, opened it at once, and drawing out the parchments it contained, found them to be the title-deeds of Berrie Down.
“Yours, my dear,” said Mr. Stewart, “to have and to hold for ever.”
“Arthur, Arthur!” she cried; and Arthur, look still white and worn, came towards his wife, who put the papers into his hand, saying, “See, love, what Mr. Stewart has given me!”