something, so I told him her name had been
Norton. That is true, you know. Mary's middle name is Norton. And I said
I didn't know of any cousins or uncles; and that's true. And I said 'I
had been told' that his father and mother had been killed in a carriage
accident. I _was_ told so; people made it up," said Miss Lydia, simply,
"so I just let 'em. I never said his parents had died that way. Well, it
made Johnny cry. He used to say: 'Poor mamma! Poor mamma!' I haven't
told what you'd call lies; I have only reserved the truth."

"Pathetic, his 'wanting' a mother," said Mr. Smith. "Damn my son-in-law!
Excuse me, madam."

"It would be nice if you would forgive him," Miss Lydia suggested,
timidly.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I never forgive. . . . Well, I will keep up
the geographical fiction and the runaway horses. And now I must not
detain you further. I will take the boy to-morrow."

He put out his big hand, and Miss Lydia, putting her little one into it,
said:

"Who is going to adopt him?"

"Who?" said Mr. Smith. "Why, I! Who did you suppose was going
to--Robertson? My dear Miss Sampson, reassure yourself on that point!
That hound shall never get hold of him!"

"Of course," Miss Lydia agreed, nodding, "Johnny's parents, or his
grandfather, have a right to him."

Mr. Smith was just leaving the room, but he paused on the threshold and
flung a careless word back to her: "His parents could never take him.
The thing would come out."

"If his _grandfather_ takes him it will come out," said Miss Lydia,
following him into the hall.

"Yes, but his 'grandfather' won't take him," the old man said, with a
grunt of amusement; "it is 'Mr. Smith' who is going to do that."

"'Mr. Smith' can't."

Her caller turned and stared at her blankly.

"His 'grandfather' can have him," said Miss Lydia.

"_What!_"

"His relations can have Johnny."

"But I--"

"If you are a relation," Miss Lydia said--her voice was only a little
whisper--"you can have him."

They stood there in the hall, the big man, and the small, battling
gambler of a woman, who was staking her most precious possession--a
disowned child--on the chance that the pride of the man would outweigh
his desire for ownership. Their eyes--misty, frightened blue, and
flashing black--seemed to meet and clash. "He won't dare," she was
saying to herself, her heart pounding in her throat. And Johnny's
grandfather was saying to himself, very softly, "The devil!" He bent