There!'

He had swung himself upon the bough above, his uncle having been equal to bear his weight.

And now, with eager face, he pointed out the white dusty high-road that went like a streak of light between rows of flat green meadows, and disappeared at the top of a hill on the horizon.

'He'll come!' he whispered into his uncle's ear; 'and I shall say good-bye to the House and go. I'm only waiting. He'll come along that road. I come here to expec' him every day.'

Not a vestige of doubt in the eager happy voice. His uncle looked at him in wonder.

'How do you know he hasn't forgotten you? You have never got a letter from him, have you? And he mightn't want to be bothered with a small boy.'

But no shadow came across Bobby's earnest, trustful eyes.

'He's my father. He likes me acause I belongs to him. He's the person that likes me in the earth, and God is the other Person. He's up in heaven, but I belongs to Him too. And God likes me very much!'

There was supreme self-satisfaction in his tone.

His uncle smiled.

'Your theology doesn't sound right to me. I was always told that it was only very good boys that were liked by God.'

'Yes, that's what Nurse says; but God says diff'unt to Nobbles and me. He talks to me sometimes when I'm in bed. He says He'll always like me for ever and ever, amen!'

There was no irreverence in his tone—only triumphant assurance; and his uncle was silenced.

'And so I'm just expecking,' went on the small boy; 'and he may come to-morrow while you're here.'

'That would be first-rate. Now, where shall I find you when I want a game of hide and seek? Where's your nursery?'

Bobby pointed to the window, which was plainly in sight from the orchard.

'But how do I get to it?'

'Through the green door.'

'Of course I do. Now I come to think of it, that is our old nursery. We were shut away from the rest of the house by the baize door. Here's your nurse looking for you. Good-bye for the present. I'm going out with your grandmother.'

He left Bobby looking after him with wistful eyes.

'He's just my sort,' he announced to his nurse in his old-fashioned way. 'Me and Nobbles and him will like each other very much.'

'Who are you talking about?' asked Nurse. And Bobby answered, 'Master Mortimer.'

It was two or three days before he saw his uncle again, for he went up to London on business. Then he entranced the child by taking him down to the river to fish. That was a red-letter day to Bobby; his tongue never stopped until he was told he would frighten the fish away, and then he sat on a fence and gazed at his uncle with adoring eyes. As he trotted home very tired, but very happy, insisting upon carrying two good-sized trout, he said, 'I shall do this every day with father, and we'll cook our brekfus ourselves.'

'May he never disappoint you!'

Mr. Mortimer murmured the words, and happily Bobby did not hear them. That evening he and Nobbles were too excited to sleep. In rehearsing his day to himself, Bobby began to think of many such blissful times in the future; he pictured them to Nobbles, his father being the centre-piece. And then he stopped talking and began to listen for the knock that was to come. There was great silence in the nursery. Nurse had gone downstairs to her supper, leaving the night-light as usual upon the washing-stand in the corner of the room. Suddenly Bobby sprang up, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson, his little heart galloping wildly, There was no possible mistake this time. A sharp rat-tat on his door.

'Come in!'

How often he had rehearsed his answer to the knock! Why was it that his voice was so husky? Why were his knees trembling so? He was out of his bed now, standing in the middle of the room, a pathetic little 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 stifle his sobs.

His self-restraint made his uncle feel more uncomfortable. He sat down by his bed and lifted him out bodily upon his knees, and he tried to soothe him as a woman might.

'I declare, if you were a little older you and I would go off on a tour round the world and search for this runaway father of yours.'

This idea was a risky one to propose, but he felt desperate at the sight of the child's grief.

Bobby raised his eyes for the first time. The tears did not hide the dawn of hope springing up in them.

'I'm old enough,' he said, choking down a sob; 'please take me.'

'It wouldn't do, and we might miss him; he might arrive after you had gone.'

'Me and Nobbles could go and look for him our own selves,' Bobby said very thoughtfully. 'We would just ask and ask till they told us where he was.'

His uncle began to feel uneasy. 'No, that's quite the wrong way about. He must come to you, not you go to him.'

'But,' said Bobby pitifully, 'he never comes, and I'm tireder and tireder of waiting.'

'You go to sleep, and perhaps you'll dream where your father is. Dreams are rummy things, and Nobbles is wanting his sleep, I know.'

Bobby was deposited in bed with his beloved stick, and his eyelids began to droop at once. In a minute or two, worn out with his excitement and consequent depression, he was fast asleep.

His uncle picked up his masquerading attire and left the room muttering, 'I never will play the fool again; it doesn't pay.'

A day or two after this his Uncle Mortimer departed. Bobby was very unhappy at losing him, for uncle and nephew were close friends, and not a day passed without their spending some of it together. The uncle promised to look for Bobby's father and