Robert Ferguson ought to get married, and give her an aunt to
look after her." She glanced at Mrs. Richie again, with
appraising eyes; "pity he hasn't more sense."

"I think I hear a carriage," Mrs. Richie said, coldly. Then she
forgot Mrs. Maitland, and stood waiting and trembling. A minute
later Mr. Ferguson ushered the three sleepy, whimpering children
into the room, and Mrs. Richie caught her grimy, crying little
boy in her arms and cried with him. "Oh, David, oh, David--my
darling! How could you frighten mother so!"

She was on her knees before him, and while her tears and kisses
fell on his tousled thatch of yellow hair, he burrowed his dirty
little face among the laces around her white throat and bawled
louder than ever. Mrs. Maitland, her back to the fireplace, her
hands on her hips, stood looking on; she was very much
interested. Blair, hungry and sleepy and evidently frightened,
was nuzzling up against Mrs. Richie, catching at her hand and
trying to hide behind her skirts; he looked furtively at his
mother, but he would not meet her eye.

"Blair," she said, "go to bed."

"Nannie and me want some supper," said Blair in a whisper.

"You won't get any. Boys that go traveling at supper-time can get
their own suppers or go hungry."

"It's my fault, Mamma," Nannie panted.