rrow. I must
on to my mother."

For at the doorway, at the head of the stairs, there stood the still
trim and active figure of an old woman, with something of the mouse
likeness seen in her grand-daughter, in the close cap, high hat, and
cloth dress, that sumptuary opinion, if not law, prescribed for the
burgher matron, a white apron, silver chain and bunch of keys at her
girdle. Due and loving greetings passed between mother and son, after
the longest and most perilous absence of Master Headley's life, and he
then presented Giles, to whom the kindly dame offered hand and cheek,
saying, "Welcome, my young kinsman, your good father was well known and
liked here. May you tread in his steps!"

"Thanks, good mistress," returned Giles. "I am thought to have a pretty
taste in the fancy part of the trade. My Lord of Montagu--"

Before he could get any farther, Mistress Headley was inquiring what was
the rumour she had heard of robbers and dangers that had beset her son,
and he was presenting the two young Birkenholts to her. "Brave boys!
good boys," she said, holding out her hands and kissing each according
to the custom of welcome, "you have saved my son for me, and this little
one's father for her. Kiss them, Dennet, and thank them."

"It was the poor dog," said the child, in a clear little voice, drawing
back with a certain quaint coquetting shyness; "I would rather kiss
him."

"Would that thou couldst, little mistress," said Stephen. "My poor
brave Spring!"

"Was he thine own? Tell me all about him," said Dennet, somewhat
imperiously.

She stood between the two strangers looking eagerly in with sorrowfully
interested eyes, while Stephen, out of his full heart, told of his
faithful comradeship with his hound from the infancy of both. Her
father meanwhile was exchanging serious converse with her grandmother,
and Giles finding himself left in the background, began: "Come hither,
pretty coz, and I will tell thee of my Lady of Salisbury's dainty little
hounds."

"I care not for dainty little hounds," returned Dennet; "I want to hear
of the poor faithful dog that flew at the wicked robber."

"A mighty stir about a mere chance," muttered Giles.

"I know what _you_ did," said Dennet, turning her bright brown eyes full
upon him. "You took to your heels."

Her look and little nod were so irresistibly comical that the two
brothers could not help laughing; whereupon Giles Headley turned upon
them in a passion