from her--how could it have been otherwise?--but her love
came with it. All her heart went out to the sweet, proud, contented face
as the firelight played on it, and made the treasured letter visible to
its reader. Then she had listened to particulars of the other son, in
the Baltic, of whom his mother was temperately proud, not rising to her
previous enthusiasm. He had, however, been in action; that was his
strong point, at present. By that time Mrs. Thrale's domestic record
only needed a word or two about her daughter, Mrs. Costrell, to be
complete for its purpose, a tentative enlightenment of its hearer, which
might induce counter-revelation. But the old lady did not respond,
clinging rather to inquiry about her informant's affairs. For which the
latter did not blame her, for who could say what reasons she might have
for her reticence. At any rate, _she_ would not try to break through it.

All this talk, by the comfortable fireside, was nourishment to the
growing germ of old Maisie's affection for this chance acquaintance of a
day. Her faith in all her surroundings--her Guardian Angel apart--had
been sadly shaken by the expression "plaguy old cat." This woman could
be relied upon, she was sure. She could not be disappointed in her--how
could she doubt it? Whether their unknown kinship was a mysterious help
to this confidence is a question easy to ask. The story makes no attempt
to answer it.

A bad disappointment was pending, however. After some chance references
to "mother," her great vigour in spite of her eighty years, the
distances she could walk, and so on--and some notes about
neighbours--Farmer Jones's Bull, mentioned as a local celebrity,
naturally led back to Dave.

"The dear boy was never tired of telling about that Bull," said old
Maisie. "I thought perhaps he made up a little as he went, for children
will. Was it all true he told me about how he wasn't afraid to go up
close, and the Bull was good and quiet?"

"Quite true," answered Mrs. Thrale. "Only we would never have given
permission, me and mother, only we knew the animal by his character. He
cannot abide grown men, and he's not to be trusted with women and little
girls. But little boys may pat him, and no offence given. It was all
quite true."

"Well, now!--that is very nice to know. Was it true, too, all about the
horses and the wheelsacks, and the water-cart?"

"Of course!--oh yes, of course it was! That was our model. Only it
should not hav