tter. And where is my mother all this time?"

"How delighted she will be: and what a comfort to her just now when she
is upset and troubled! My dear, it'll be a dreadful disappointment to
you: your mother is in London. She had to hurry off the day before
yesterday--on business."

"In London!" cried Pippo. His countenance fell: he was so much
disappointed that for a moment, big boy as he was, he looked ready to
cry. He had come in bursting with his news, expecting a reception almost
as tumultuous as that given him by the dogs outside. And he found only
his grandmother, who forgot what it was he was "in for"--and no mother
at all!

"It is a disappointment, Pippo--and it will be such a disappointment to
her not to hear it from your own lips: but you must telegraph at once,
and that will be next best. She has some worrying business--things that
she hates to look after--and this will give her a little heart."

"What a bore!" said Pippo, with his crest down and the light gone out of
him. He gave himself up to the dogs who had been jumping about him,
biding their time. "Yarrow knew," he said, laughing, to get the water
out of his eyes. "He gave me a cheer whenever he saw me, dear old
fellow--and little Risky too----"

"And only granny forgot," said Mrs. Dennistoun; "that was very hard upon
you, Pippo; my thoughts were all with your mother. And I couldn't think
how you could get back at this time----"

"Well," said the boy, "my work's over, you know. There's nothing for a
fellow to do after he's got the scholarship. I needn't go back at
all--unless you and my mother wish it. I've--in a sort of a way, done
everything that I can do. Don't laugh at me, granny!"

"Laugh at you, my boy! It is likely I should laugh at you. Don't you
know I am as proud of you as your mother herself can be? I am glad and
proud," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "for I am glad for her as well as for you.
Now, Pippo, you want something to eat."

The boy looked up with a laugh. "Yes, granny," he said, "you always
divine that sort of thing. I do."

Mrs. Dennistoun did not occupy her mind with any thought of that little
unintentional and grateful jibe--that she always divined that sort of
thing. Among the other great patiences of her life she had learnt to
know that the mother and son, loving and tender as they were, had put
her back unconsciously into the proper place of the old woman--always
consulted, always thought of, never left out; but divining chiefl