from her work on the baby who slipped about in her hands like a stout eel, cried in a shrill voice: “Children, if you don't be quiet,” or “Nicholas, in a moment I'll give you such a beating,”—or “Agatha, for goodness' sake!”. . .
Then suddenly Robin, looking up, caught sight of Peter, he gave a shout and was across the room in an instant. There was never a moment's doubt in his eyes. He flung himself upon Peter's body, he wound his arms round Peter's leg, he beat upon his chest with his bullet head, he cried: “Oh! Mr. Peter has come! Mr. Peter has come!”
Mrs. Tressiter let the baby fall into the bath with a splash and there it lay howling. The other members of the family gathered round.
But Peter thought that he had known no joy so acute for years as the welcome that the small boy gave him. He hoisted Robin on to his shoulder, and there Robin sat with his naked little legs dangling over, his hands in the big man's neck.
“Oh! Mr. Westcott, I'm sure . . .” said Mrs. Tressiter, smiling from ear to ear and wiping her wet hands on her apron—Robin bent his head and bit Peter's ear.
“Get on, horse,” he cried and for a quarter of an hour there was wild riot in the Tressiter family. Then they were all put to bed, as good as gold,—“you might have heard a pin drop,” said Mrs. Tressiter, “when Agatha said her prayers”—and at last the lights were put out.
Peter bent down over Robin's bed and the boy flung his arms round his neck.
“I dreamed of you—I knew you'd come,” he whispered.
“What shall I send you as a present to-morrow?” asked Peter.
“Soldiers—soldiers on horses. Those with cannons and shiny things on their backs. . . .” Robin was very explicit—"You'll be here to-morrow?” he asked.
“No—not to-morrow,” Peter answered.
“Soon?”
“Yes, soon.”
“I love you, more than Agatha, more than Dick, more than any one 'cept Daddy and Mummy.”
“You'll be a good boy until I come back?”
“Promise . . . but come back soon.”
