tle
figure with his pink bare feet and tumbled curls, and Nobbles clasped
in his arms.

The door opened. Bobby drew a long, shivering sigh. A huge,
black-bearded man in a striped blanket came in. He carried a gun, and
an axe was fastened to his belt. He was very tall, and his voice was
very gruff.

'Are you Robert Stuart Allonby? I have come to take him away.'

In an instant, with outstretched arms, Bobby sprang forward, 'Father!
I'm ready!'

That was all he said; but as the big man lifted him up Bobby buried his
face in the bushy black beard and clasped him round his neck, and a
quiver ran through his little body as he whispered in a fervour of joy,
'I'll come with you. Why have you been so long? Oh, father, darling,
take me quick, and never let me come back to this old house again.'

'Are you ready to camp out amongst fierce Indians in the wild woods?'

'I'll love to.'

'Where the wolves prowl round at night?'

'I'll be with you.'

'You'll have to ride a wild pony; you will be out in the rain and cold.
You'll have to cut down trees and earn your bread. Sometimes you'll be
hungry and cold and tired; there'll be no one to look after you.
You'll have to rough it. So you want to come? Now? Right away?'

'Right away!' repeated Bobby, squeezing tighter round the stranger's
neck. 'I'll be with you, father. You'll never leave me again!'

There was such infinite trust and tenderness in the child's voice that
the big man wavered, put Bobby down on the floor, tore off his beard
and blanket, and revealed himself as Master Mortimer. 'Upon my word
you're a plucky little 'un!'

Bobby stared up at him with horror-struck eyes. For the space of a
moment his uncle felt thoroughly ashamed of himself, much as if he were
meeting the gaze of a faithful dog he was ill-treating, for the look on
the child's face was a broken-hearted one. He stood there with a
quivering lip in perfect silence; then turned, crept into his bed
again, and lay down with his face to the wall.

Nobbles was left upon the floor.

His uncle took a quick step up to the bed.

'Sorry, old fellow; it was a piece of fun. I didn't think you would
take it so hard. Did you really think it was your father? I hoped I
might put you off him.'

Bobby did not raise his head; he was terribly ashamed of tears, but his
little chest was heaving with the bitterness of his disappointment, and
he had stuffed a corner of his pillow into his mouth to st