to insist on them. But he
refused to dwell on this possibility. He persuaded himself that his
father was better, that he would even recover, and that the business
would recover too. For the last six months Ponting had been running it
with an assistant under him, and between them they had done wonders with
it, considering.

And on the Sunday something occurred that confirmed him in his rosy
optimism.

His father was having another good day, and they had wheeled him into
the front sitting-room. Upstairs in the small back room Ransome was
getting the children ready for their Sunday walk, when his mother came
to him.

"Ranny," she said, "take off their hats and coats, dear. Your Father
wants them."

"What does he want them for?"

"It's his fancy. He's gettin' better, I think. I don't know when I've
seen him so bright and contented as he's been these last two days. And
so pleased with everything you do for him--There, take them down, dear,
quick."

He took them down and led them into the room. But they refused to look
at their grandfather; they turned from him at once; they hid their faces
behind Ranny's legs.

"They're afraid of me, I suppose," said Mr. Ransome.

"No," said Ranny, "they're not." But he had to take Stanny in his arms
and comfort him lest he should cry.

"You're not afraid of Gran, are you? Show Gran your pretty pinny, Doss."

He gave her a gentle push, and the child stood there holding out her
pinafore and gazing over it at her grandfather with large, frightened
eyes. Mr. Ransome's eyes looked back at her. They were sunken, somber,
wistful, unutterably sad. He did not speak. He did not smile. It was
impossible to say what he was thinking.

This mutual inspection lasted for a moment so intense that it seemed
immeasurable. Then Mr. Ransome closed his eyes as if pained and
exhausted.

And Ranny stooped and whispered, "Kiss him, Dossie, kiss poor Gran."

The child, perceiving pity somewhere and awed into submission, did her
best, but her kiss barely brushed the sallow, waxen face. And as he felt
her there Mr. Ransome opened his eyes suddenly and looked at her again,
and Dossie, terrified, turned away and burst out crying.

"She's shy. She's a silly little girl," said Ranny, as he led her away.
He knew that, in the moment when the child had turned from him, his
father had felt outcast from life and utterly alone.

Mr. Ransome stirred and looked after him. "You come back here," he said.
"I've