r whip to a white shed on the farther shore.
"And swimming matches. We used sometimes, when we were younger, to come
down on hot nights and be mermaids. Once we moored ourselves out in the
middle, away from the mosquitoes, and slept in the bottom of the boat,
under the stars."

"How charming!"

"It was holiday time, and our parents were away. We took cushions and
things, and it was great fun; but Keziah reported us, and we were never
allowed to do it again."

They sat in the pony-carriage on the dam embankment, gazing silently. A
flock of wildfowl had been scared away by their approach, and now not a
wing, not an eye was near. At a great distance curlews wailed, only to
make the stillness and solitude more exquisite, more profound. The
purple of the hills grew deeper and softer, the lake a mere pulseless
shimmer through the twilight haze. And then, last touch of magic, the
moon swam up--the same moon that had transfigured Five Creeks garden
and Alice Urquhart last night.

He poured out his soul to Deborah Pennycuick.

First, it was only the story of the baby--the story he had told Alice,
with some omissions and additions. He took advantage of the opportunity
to ask Deb's invaluable advice.

Deb, well aware of the influence of a summer night and certain
accessories, tried her best to be practical. She asked straight
questions about the baby.

"Where have you got him? Where does this friend live who has been
recommended to you?"

"In Sandridge--all at Sandridge--"

"That dirty, low part! That's no place to rear a boy in. Bring him into
the bush, to clean air, if you want to make a man of him. I know a
dear, nice woman--she is our overseer's wife--who has no children, and
is dying to get hold of one somehow or other. We might make some
arrangement with her, I am sure; and, if so, the little fellow would be
in clover. We'd all look after him, of course, while you were at sea--"

"Oh! oh! oh!" The young father's heart simply exhaled itself in
gratitude too vast for words. Ah! there was no hanging back now! Not
the baby only, but the dog-chain, was laid at Deborah's feet.

"You go and fetch him tomorrow," said she, "and I'll talk to Mrs Kelsey
while you are away. Then I'll meet you at the station on your return,
to help you with him, and tell you what Mrs Kelsey says--though I have
no doubt of what it will be. But we'll keep him at Redford for a bit,
till he gets used to everybody; and you must stay with him all