"A visitor for my dear new aunty," said Ronald. "I always call her my aunty, and she likes it very much. Oh Connie, do take me just to see Giles! I know it isn't wrong, and I should be quite safe with you."

"First of all," said Connie, "we'll ring the bell and ask if we may speak to Mrs. Anderson for a minute."

"Very well," said Ronald; "only I 'spect she's busy with the person who has called."

Anne came to answer the children's summons, and told them that her mistress was particularly engaged and could not be disturbed.

"That's all right," answered Ronald; "you can go away now, please. You needn't take the tea-things just for a bit. You can go away, please, Anne."

Anne, who was devoted to Ronald, thought that the children wanted to play together, and left them alone in the little parlor. The light was growing dim, and Connie poked the fire into a blaze.

"I ought to be goin' back," she said. "Giles 'ull want me. I'll come another day, Ronald, and Mrs. Anderson'll let me bring yer back to Giles then."

"No, no--to-day," said Ronald--"to-day--to-night--this minute. It isn't wrong. I must see him. You'll take me to see him, and then you'll bring me back, won't you, Connie?"

"W'y, yus," said Connie. "I s'pose it ain't wrong; but you can't do more nor set down in the room for about five minutes, Ronald, for yer'll 'ave to get back 'ere quite early, you know."

Ronald, delighted at any sort of consent on the part of his little friend, rushed upstairs to fetch his velvet cap and his little overcoat.

But he forgot, and so did Connie, all about the thin house-shoes he was wearing. Soon he had slipped into the coat, and cramming the cap on his head and looking up at Connie with a gay laugh, said:

"Now we'll come."

They were in the hall, and had just opened the hall door, when suddenly that of the drawing-room was opened, and the old man, who helped himself along with a stick, came out. Ronald looked back and caught sight of him; but Ronald himself being in shadow, the old man did not notice him.

The old man then spoke in a loud voice:

"It is all settled, then, and I will call to-morrow morning at ten o'clock to fetch back the boy. Have him ready. And now, good-day to you, madam."

But the old gentleman suddenly stopped as he uttered these words, for the hall door was slammed by some one else with violence, and Ronald turned a white face up to Connie.

"It's himself--it's Uncle Stephen. He made mother cry and cry. I won't go back to him. I won't be his boy. Hide me--hide me, Connie!"

Connie herself felt very much frightened.

"Come along 'ome with me," she said. "He can't get yer at my 'ome. Don't shrink like that, Ronald. Be a man, dear Ronald."

The children got back to Connie's rooms without any special adventure.

There Giles was waiting with that peaceful look on his face which seemed more or less to quiet every one who came in his way. He smiled all over his little face when he saw Connie, and then his eyes grew big and surprised as he noticed the small boy who kept her company.

"Why are yer back so soon, Connie?" he said. "I warn't not one little bit lonesome. And 'oo's he?" said Giles.

"This is my dear little friend Ronald," said Connie.

"And I wanted to see you awful bad," said Ronald, running up to Giles, flinging his cap on the floor, and kneeling down by him. "I have thought of you--oh, so much! It was you, you know, who taught me to endure to the end. Did Connie tell you about that?"

"Yes," said Giles, "she told me."

Ronald looked up at Connie. Giles watched the two, and then he held out his little hand and touched Ronald's.

"You're wery brave," he said. "You had a brave father."

"He is a V. C. man. He's coming to see me one day," said Ronald.

"I know," said Giles. "It's real supporting to 'ave a brave father. I have one too."

"Have you?" said Ronald. "And is he coming to see you one day?"

"No--I'm goin' to 'im. Don't let's talk about it now."

Ronald sat down on the side of Giles's crimson and gold bed, and glanced round the room. Connie lit a paraffin lamp and put it on the table. In his first excitement at seeing Giles, Ronald forgot the mad terror which had awakened in him at the sound of Uncle Stephen's voice. But now he remembered.

"I have come to stay," he remarked emphatically.

"Oh no, Ronald, you can't," exclaimed Connie.

"I am not going back," exclaimed Ronald. "Giles, I needn't, need I?

There's a dreadful man coming to-morrow, and he's going to take me away from my darling aunty. I won't go. I'll hide here with you, Giles."

"Will yer?" said Giles. "That 'ull be real pain to yer aunty, won't it?"

"Real pain?" said Ronald. "But Connie can tell her. Connie needn't say where I am. She can just tell that I heard Uncle Stephen's voice, and that I am hiding. I can't go back, can I, Giles--can I?"

"Dunno," said Giles; but a wistful expression came into his face.

"Why do you look like that?" asked Ronald.

"Sometimes one 'as to do things one can't do," was Giles's next rather difficult remark.

"But this is really silly," said Ronald, "for we can do the things we can do."

"Course not--not by ourselves," said Giles. "But if we're to endure to the end, why, 'E'll help."

"You remind me of that awful fire," said Ronald.

He jumped up and walked across the room. His eyes were dim; his heart was beating with great rapidity, for he was still weak and had gone through much. Oh, that cruel, cruel old man who had made his mother cry so often! He thought upon him with a growing terror.

Connie looked at Ronald, and then she glanced at Giles and her eyes said to Giles:

"Help me all you can about Ronald." Then Giles called her to him.

"Leave Ronald with me for a bit," he said. "Go back and tell Mrs.

Anderson; but leave little Ronald with me."

Connie immediately went out; but Ronald was so absorbed in trying to quiet his beating heart, and in trying to recover his courage, that he did not even know when she closed the door after her.

Connie ran as quickly as she could all the way to Carlyle Terrace. There she rang a loud peal at the front door. It was Mrs. Anderson herself who opened it to her.

"Oh Connie!" said the widow, "thank G.o.d! Have you brought news of Ronald? What _has_ happened, Connie--what _has_ happened?"