laid themselves down on the rug before the fire and were rolling on each
other in great content.

Jean and David sat together on the sofa, their arms linked. They had
very little to say, for as the time of departure approaches
conversation dies at the fount.

Jean was trying to think what their mother would have said on this last
evening to her boy who was going out into the world. Never had she felt
so inadequate. Ought she to say things to him? Warn him against lurking
evils? (Jean who knew about as much of evil as a "committed linnet"!)
But David was such a wise boy and so careful. It always pinched Jean's
heart to see him dole out his slender stock of money, for there never
was a Jardine born who did not love to be generous.

She looked at him fondly. "I do hope you won't find it too much of a
pinch, David. The worst of it is, you will be with people who have heaps
of money, and I'm afraid you'll hate to feel shabby."

"It's no crime to be poor," said David stoutly. "I'll manage all right.
Don't you worry. What I hate is thinking you are scrimping to give me
every spare penny--but I'll work my hardest."

"I know you'll do that, but play too--every minute you can spare. I
don't want you to shut yourself up among books. Try and get all the good
of Oxford. Remember, Sonny, this is your youth, and whatever you may get
later you can never get that back." She leaned back and gave a great
sigh. "How I wish I could make this a splendid time for you, but I
can't, my dear, I can't.... Anyway, nobody will have better china. I've
given you six of Aunt Alison's rosy ones; I hope the scout won't break