e did not know: she was content to wait. All she wanted, now, was to
get home.

They stayed a week in London with Louis's people. It was pathetic to see
the mother's wistful anxiety and the father's open scepticism change to
confidence as the week went by.

"He's a changeling, my dear," said Mrs. Fame to Marcella when, in spite
of the old lady's wish to keep them in London, they told her they must
go North.

"Louis has always been a puzzle to me," said his father. "Even as a
little chap he did things I couldn't understand--selfish things,
crooked things--I don't understand what has happened to him."

"If I told you you would think General Booth had been getting at me,"
said Marcella. "But Louis will explain it all to you, some day."

From the slowly dawning pride on the father's face and the pathetic
hope of the mother Marcella guessed that Louis would not have to raise
his fees on the music-halls.

The winds were black and wintry already round the station at Carlossie
as the train drew in. Marcella had wired that she was coming, giving no
explanations. Andrew had been very fidgety. He was wearing his first
small suit and what he gained in dignity from knickers and three pockets
he lost in comfort. At last he fell asleep. Marcella looked from him to
Louis and felt that it was very childish of her, but she was really
anxious to get them both home, put them on exhibition, as it were. She
had never got over the feeling that Andrew had not merely happened, but
was a voluntary achievement. Lately she had had the same idea about
Louis. She wanted to see the effect of them both upon the people at
home.

The station at Carlossie was just the same: it looked much smaller, and
the people, too, seemed smaller. Dr. Angus was there in his Inverness
cape, smiling with the same air of conscious achievement as Marcella
felt.

"So ye're back again, Mrs. Marcella? I knew we'd be getting ye back
soon. And bringing two men with ye!"

He shook hands gravely with Andrew and gave Louis a swift, appraising
look that seemed to satisfy him.

"Your aunt's getting a wee bit frail, Mrs. Marcella! So I brought the
old machine along."

They climbed into the machine--his old, high dog-cart, and drove along
through tearing winds which were like the greeting embraces of friends
to Marcella. The doctor told her all the news; all about the new babies,
and the few deaths and illnesses while she had been away. The dashing of
the water on the