Denys had undertaken, at the earnest request of the woman at the Landslip Cottage, to take care of Harry as far as to Mixham Junction, where his uncle would meet him.

She was on her way to the Landslip cottage to make sure that the arrangements for meeting Harry at the station the following day were all complete, a duty which had obliged her to give up a two hours' drive with Mrs. Henchman, Audrey and Gertrude, who had all gone with a friend of Mrs. Henchman's.

Denys had, however, scarcely entered the Landslip road when she encountered little Harry and his kind friend, and being thus saved more than an hour's walk, she arrived back at Mrs. Henchman's house much sooner than she had expected.

Mary opened the door for her, and Denys was struck by her woebegone, weary face. For a moment Denys hesitated, thinking of that accusation of interference, thinking of Mary's constant ungraciousness to her, but she pushed the remembrance aside and said kindly, "Is anything the matter, Mary? You look so sad."

Tears sprang into Mary's eyes at the unexpected interest.

"It's my head, Miss," she said, "one of my bad headaches, and its so unfortunate to-day, because my brother is just coming home for this one evening, and Mrs. Henchman was going to let me go special, and by after tea I sha'n't be able to hold my head up, and I've not seen him for two years, and he's my favourite."

"Perhaps you can see him to-morrow," suggested Denys.

"No, Miss; he's a gentleman's servant, he is, and he's always travelling about. It was just this one chance, and now I've missed it."

"I've some headache pills—they are wonderful for nervous headaches. You would not like to try them, would you?" asked Denys. "Mother has these dreadful nervous headaches and nothing else has ever been any good to her."

"I'd try them, Miss, and be thankful."

Denys ran upstairs and came back to the kitchen, "Could you not just lie down for half-an-hour's sleep?" she said, "you might wake up with it all gone."

Mary shook her head dolefully.

"It's the milkman, Miss, and I wouldn't hear the door bell in my room."

Denys laughed.

"I have attended on the milkman before now, and I can open the front door if necessary," said she cheerfully. "Now run away upstairs, and I'll call you in plenty of time to get the tea ready. I don't suppose I had better undertake that!"

"You are real good, Miss," said Mary gratefully, "if I do see my brother to-night, I shall tell him it was all your doing."

Denys smiled to herself happily as she went back to the dining-room, and sat down to write to Charlie and to listen for the door bell. She had hated to go away with the remembrance of Mary's unpleasant looks, and the little bit of sympathy she had offered had turned Mary into a friend.

When Denys and Gertrude arrived at the station the next day, little Harry was already there, smiling and radiant. He greeted Denys as a very old friend, and did not appear to be the least homesick. The journey was of the most intense interest to him, till at last the rush and roar of the train made him drowsy, and he climbed contentedly into Denys's arms and fell asleep.

Denys sat watching him for a long time, wondering what his new life was to be, and she was somewhat surprised to find Gertrude's eyes also fixed upon the little face.

"I hope the people that child is going to will be good to him," she said. "What do you know about them?"

"Nothing!" said Denys. "His mother said her brother had promised to take him, but she had never seen the wife. Perhaps we shall see her at Mixham, but anyhow, we can't do anything except look him up now and then."

"Humph!" said Gertrude, "I should pity anybody who was in charge of the woman who washes at the house at the bottom of our garden. She comes from Mixham; Pattie used to be engaged to her brother. She looks a perfect vixen."

"Used to be engaged?" repeated Denys, startled. "You don't mean to say it is broken off? Poor Pattie!"

"Not poor Pattie at all," answered Gertrude sharply. "He was as poor as anything, and his isn't the sort of trade where they ever get much money. Why, here's Mixham! Where's that child's hat? Wake up, Tommy, or Harry, or whatever your name is!"

Jim Adams, as he had promised, had come down to meet Harry, and if he had been asked what sort of a child he was going to look for, he would have pointed to one of a dozen little urchins, playing up and down his own street, and said that boys were all alike.

So, as he was looking for a nondescript boy in knickers and jacket and cap and heavy boots, it was little wonder that he looked in vain among the crowd of travellers who poured out of the big train on the Junction platform, and he was proportionately surprised when a young lady with red-brown hair and a sweet face touched him on the arm.

"Do you happen to be Mr. Jim Adams?" she asked in her soft, pretty voice.

Jim gasped as he looked down at her, and saw the child she was holding by the hand. A child in petticoats, almost a baby it seemed to him, with a little black kilted frock and sailor coat, and a big white hat with a black ribbon, and underneath it, golden curls and the sweetest little face he had ever seen since last he saw his sister Nellie's face!

He knew it in a moment, and his heart went out to the child with an intensity of love that astonished even himself, and an awful sort of choke came into his throat as he stooped and lifted Nellie's child in his arms.

"Hullo! little chap! I'm Uncle Jim," he said.

Harry looked at him approvingly.

"I'm going to live along with you!" he said. "Mother's gone away," he added mournfully.

The clasp of Jim's arms tightened on the little fellow.

"I'm going to look after you now," he whispered. Then he remembered Denys's presence and he turned to her.

"Thank you for bringing him up, Miss. They say as you was very kind to my poor sister, and I thank you for that too. I'll do my best by the little chap."

"There was one thing," said Denys, hesitatingly. It did not seem so easy to say as she had thought. The handsome, tall young workman before her took away her breath somewhat, and she wished she had written what Nellie Lyon had particularly asked her to impress upon Jim.

"Yes, Miss," said Jim wonderingly.

"She wanted him to be brought up an abstainer," explained Denys, "as she and you were brought up."

Jim's eyes dropped.

"Yes," he said after a moment, "Yes, he shall, and so shall my own baby! I'll give 'em all the chance I can to start right. I've been trying to do without anything myself for this two months," he added, with a shy little laugh.

"I'm glad of that—we were all brought up so," said Denys, heartily, "now Mr. Adams, I may come and see Harry if I am in Mixham any time, mayn't I? He's such a dear, lovable little chap."

"That you may, Miss! any time," cried Jim earnestly, "and I thank you once again, and I'll do my best—every way."

He strode off with Harry still in his arms, well pleased with his new possession, and turned his steps towards home. But as he drew nearer to his own door, his speed slackened. What sort of a welcome would Jane give him—and the child?

He had the sense to put him down and let him walk into his new home, and so, hand in hand, the big uncle and the little nephew presented themselves before Jane.

She looked at the pair for a moment in silence, and then burst into a loud, ironical laugh.

"I always knew you were a cheat, Jim Adams! You talked enough about your sister's boy and you've brought a baby in petticoats."

"I'm not a baby—I'm going in four," said Harry gravely, "that's a baby in there," pointing to the cradle. He crossed the room and looked curiously down at the baby, and the baby, pleased with the kind little face, laughed and threw out its arms.

"Can't I have him out to play with? He likes me," cried Harry, "look, Uncle Jim, he's pulling my finger."

Jim lifted out his baby and sat down, and Harry stood beside him, lost in admiration.

"Well, this is a nice set-out," said Jane crossly, as she looked at the happy little trio, "the first thing you do, Jim Adams, is to get that boy some breeches. I'm not going to wash a lot of petticoats." She stooped and lifted Harry's frock—the little black frock that Nellie had prepared weeks ago, ready for this very time, knowing that there would be no one to buy mourning for her child.

Jane examined the petticoats, and her face relaxed a little.

"Humph!" she said, "they're not such bad petticoats! They'll do for baby finely. You can sell the frock, if you like, Jim Adams, that's no good to me, and it will help towards the breeches."

"Indeed I won't," answered Jim fiercely, "if I part with the frock, I'll give it away. Who made your pretty frock, Harry, boy?"

Harry looked down at himself proudly.

"My mother made that," he said, "that's my bestest frock. She made it ages ago, but she wouldn't never let me wear it."

Jim's eyes filled and he turned hastily to the window that Jane might not perceive it.

"Don't you part with that frock, Jane," he said.

Jane snorted.

"Tea's ready!" she said ungraciously.

The meal was about half through when she started a new subject.

"Where's the brat's bed?" said she.

"His bed?" repeated Jim, helplessly.

"His bed," she reiterated, "I suppose you thought he'd share the baby's cradle!"

Jim kept what he had thought to himself.

"You must go and get one somewhere," decreed his wife.

Jim rose obediently and went downstairs. In about half an hour he returned with his arms full of irons, blankets and bedding.

"Here, Harry, boy," he said, "uncle's got a jolly little bed for you!"

"Where did you get that?" demanded Jane.