“I hope he’ll be kept out of Miss Deborah’s way, after that exhibition —­” “Nonsense!  She was too rough and ready with him.  And she didn’t mind a bit—­of course not.  She says she likes boys to be boys.  He is a thorough boy,” Mary proudly declared, bending to kiss a chubby knee.

Harry acknowledged the caress with a thumping smack of her bowed head.

“Gently—­gently!” warned the father amiably.

“Now, what do you say to our walking over to interview Mrs Kelsey?” Mary pushed her advantage home.  “I daresay she will be busy, but she’d give us a few minutes.  It would be a satisfaction to her to speak to you herself, and here is a good opportunity.  They won’t be home much before two.”

Guthrie fetched his straw hat.  Mary retied the baby’s flapping head-gear, and they set forth.

“Let me have him,” she begged, mother-like.

“No.  He is too heavy for you.”

The father carried the child, who loved the feel of the strong arms, in which he jumped up and down, continuing to make play with his sturdy little fists.  Instead of striking back, Guthrie answered the baby assaults with wild-beast roars and gestures that sent the little man into fits of delight.  Mary laughed in chorus, keeping touch with the happy creature over the towering shoulder reared between them.  It was more than ever like a little self-contained family, taking its Sunday stroll.

Mrs Kelsey had her Christmas dinner in hand, but came to them in her big white apron and sleeves rolled to her dimpled elbows, smiling, business-like, charming in her plain, reposeful, straightforward attitude towards the visitors and their mission.  No sooner had he beheld her orderly and cheerful house, looked into her kind eyes, and heard her sincere speech, than the young father was satisfied that he had found a good place for his little son.  The child seemed to know it too, for when the strange woman drew him to her broad lap—­calmly, as if used to doing it—­he surrendered himself without a protest.  When presently she gave him a drink of milk and a biscuit to munch, he regaled himself peaceably, with the air of feeling quite at home.  When he had finished his lunch he played with a collie puppy.

“I’ll do my best for him, sir, and I’ll not let these young ladies spoil him if I can help it,” said Mrs Kelsey, with a smile at Mary Pennycuick.

Terms had been arranged, and everything settled.

“I hope you will be able to keep him from being any bother to them,” said Guthrie earnestly.

“Bother!” crowed Mary, whose intention was to visit the child daily.  “We’ll see to that, Mr Carey—­never fear.”

Mrs Kelsey suggested beginning her duties, with the aid of the little nurse, at once; but Mary would not hear of parting the boy from his father while they could be together.  So he was carried back to Redford, to be the plaything of the housekeeper’s room for the rest of the day.