moon swam up--the same moon that had transfigured Five Creeks garden
and Alice Urquhart last night.

He poured out his soul to Deborah Pennycuick.

First, it was only the story of the baby--the story he had told Alice,
with some omissions and additions. He took advantage of the opportunity
to ask Deb's invaluable advice.

Deb, well aware of the influence of a summer night and certain
accessories, tried her best to be practical. She asked straight
questions about the baby.

"Where have you got him? Where does this friend live who has been
recommended to you?"

"In Sandridge--all at Sandridge--"

"That dirty, low part! That's no place to rear a boy in. Bring him into
the bush, to clean air, if you want to make a man of him. I know a
dear, nice woman--she is our overseer's wife--who has no
children, and is dying to get hold of one somehow or other. We might
make some arrangement with her, I am sure; and, if so, the little
fellow would be in clover. We'd all look after him, of course, while
you were at sea--"

"Oh! oh! oh!" The young father's heart simply exhaled itself in
gratitude too vast for words. Ah! there was no hanging back now! Not
the baby only, but the dog-chain, was laid at Deborah's feet.