I came along quiet. I knew she’d be glad to see me—but, bless you, she and mother cared more for Jim’s little finger than for my whole body. Some people have a way of gettin’ the biggest share of nearly everybody’s liking that comes next or anigh ‘em. I don’t know how it’s done, or what works it. But so it is; and Jim could always count on every man, woman, and child, wherever he lived, wearing his colours and backing him right out, through thick and thin.

When I came up Aileen was saying—

“Oh, Jim, my dear old Jim! now I’ll die happy; mother and I were only talking of you to-day, and wondering whether we should see you at Christmas—and now you have come. Oh, Dick! and you too. But we shall be frightened every time we hear a horse’s tread or dog’s bark.”

“Well, we’re here now, Aileen, and that’s something. I had a great notion of clearing out for San Francisco and turning Yankee. What would you have done then?”

We walked up to the house, leading our horses, Jim and Aileen hand in hand. Mother looked up and gave a scream; she nearly fell down; when we got in, her face was as white as a sheet.

“Mother of Mercy! I vowed to you for this,” she said; “sure she hears our prayers. I wanted to see ye both before I died, and I didn’t think you’d come. I was afraid ye’d be dreadin’ the police, and maybe stay away for good and all. The Lord be thanked for all His mercies!”

We went in and enjoyed our tea. We had had nothing to eat that day since breakfast; but better than all was Aileen’s pleasant, clever tongue, though she said it was getting stiff for want of exercise. She wanted to know all about our travels, and was never tired of listening to Jim’s stories of the wonders we had seen in the great cities and the strange places we had been to.

“Oh! how happy you must have been!” she would say, “while we have been pining and wearying here, all through last spring and summer, and then winter again—cold and miserable it was last year; and now Christmas has come again. Don’t go away again for a good while, or mother and I’ll die straight out.”

Well, what could we say? Tell her we’d never go away at all if we could help it—only she must be a good girl and make the best of things, for mother’s sake? When had she seen father last?