e explained, "was by here one day you had gone. I
made one for her."

"Nancy," I said, taking her on my knee, "do you know that it is a crime
to sign another person's name without his leave?"

"How crime?"

"Well, it's the thing people get locked in jails for----"

She laughed out loud and lay back on my arm at this.

"It's all mine, isn't it?" she asked.

I had told this so often that I couldn't gainsay it.

"_Wrong to write Sandy's name, not wrong to write Jock's_," she
crooned in a sort of song; and this was as far as I got with her
concerning it.

I told Sandy these three tales, and he roared with glee.

"Her morals are all tail first," he said, "though very sound! But
she'll have us in the poor farm and herself in jail if she keeps this
up."

CHAPTER VII

I TAKE NANCY'S EDUCATION IN HAND

Father Michel, Sandy, and Hugh Pitcairn were the only ones who knew
enough of the child to make their advices on the subject of an
education for her of any value, and it was the priest whom I consulted
first.

"My lord," he said, after listening to my tale, "it's a peculiar case,
and one which, I openly state, is beyond me. In every bout with her I
am routed by a certain lawless sincerity of utterance, or by her
fastening her eyes upon me and asking, 'Why?' or 'Who says that?' She
is gentleness and sweetness itself; but any attempt which I have ever
made to instruct her in religion has been utterly without results.
Sometimes she goes to sleep, other whiles she laughs and questions me
in a way that makes the flesh crawl. When I told her of the crucifixion
of our blessed Lord, she fell into such a frenzy that it brought on the
aching head and fever, which you will remember caused your lordship
such alarm. We have the raising of a genius upon us, and by that I mean
one who knows more, sees deeper, feels more keenly than is given to
most or to any except the few. Miss Nancy is a fearless soul, a
passionate, loving, powerful nature, and my belief is that the only way
to control her is to let her develop her own powers in her own way. It
is a hard question, a subtle question, my lord; but I believe it is the
only way."

Sandy was in London at the time, but the same day on which I had the
talk with Father Michel I sent for Hugh Pitcairn, asking him to dine
with me and talk over the Problem of Nancy.

"It's like this, Hugh," said I, as we sat over some wine of his
particular fancy, "God has been kind enough to