d, without looking up, "I can't go, Jock."

"Why?" I inquired.

She arose at this and leaned against me, her head but little above my
knee and her eyes looking straight up into mine.

"Oh, don't you see?" she cried. "I can't go!--I can't go and leave my
people, Jock!"

I can see now that then was the time I should have been firm with her,
and have escaped the tyranny of latter years. Firm with her! Firm!
while Nancy stood leaning against me with her baby curls under my hand.
Firm! with eyes that held tears in them, tears which I had caused.

"Take them," I cried, "take the free-traders, the old wreck, the Cairn
Mills, and the new light-house, for all of me; but never let me see
that look in your face again, my little one!" and I had her in my arms,
as weak a father as I had been as lover and as husband, with the
resulting that I, John Stair, Lord of Stair and Alton in the Mearns, in
company with Dame Dickenson, Father Michel, Uncle Ben, the two or three
dogs, the kittens, the Nameless One, the "drey hen," and a small child
holding a dissipated-looking owl with but one whole feather in its
tail, drove up to the gateway of Stair Castle in a gipsy wagon of an
abandoned character, on the afternoon of a day in late February, in the
year 1773.

CHAPTER V

I MAKE THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A STRANGE CHILD

Several days after this strange home-coming some business called me to
the far woods, where I was detained until the afternoon sun was well on
its way behind the hills. Nearing the house I discovered Nancy huddled
in a little bunch, sitting by her lee-lane in a spot of sunshine on the
west steps--such a lovable, touchable little bundle as she sat there,
with her chin in her hand. I looked for the exuberant welcome which I
had always received, but it was wanting; and as I stood waiting some
greeting from her, she made a quaint gesture of dismissal to me:

"Jock mustn't disturb Nancy now," she said; "Nancy's making verses."
There was in the atom's voice nothing but a statement of her wishes.
That I was her father and one to be obeyed never entered her curly
head, and her tone implied the belief that I would respect her lights
as she would mine. I can honestly state that I never was more dismayed
in my life. I entered the library, wondering what had happened in my
absence, and considering whether to send for Dickenson and make some
inquiries.

It was gone a half hour perhaps before Nancy came in through the low
wi