“Esther!” he called, in a vibrating voice at the foot of the stairs.

And “Coming, dear—­half a minute,” floated down in response.

Half a minute passed ten times, and then she came, the beautiful young mother with her laughing-faced wee son in her arms.  Her eyes looked so tender; and soft, and loving that he turned away impatiently; he knew quite well how it would be; she would beg and entreat him to forgive his little daughter when she heard, and when she looked as bright and beautiful as she did just now he could refuse her nothing.

He stood in profound meditation for a minute or two.

“What is it you want, John?” she said.  “Oh! and what do you think?  I have just found another tooth, a double one—­come and look.”

He came, half unwillingly, and stuck his little finger into his infant son’s mouth.

Esther guided it till it felt a tiny, hard substance.  “The third,” she said proudly; “aren’t you pleased?”

“Hum!” he said.  Then he meditated a little longer, and after a minute or two rubbed his hands as if he was quite pleased with himself.

“Put on your hat, Esther, and the General’s,” he said, patting that young gentleman’s head affectionately.  “Let us go down to the river for a stroll; the children are down there picnicking, so we can be sure of some tea.”

“Why, yes, that will be very nice,” she said, “won’t it Bababsie, won’t it, sweet son?”

She called to Martha, who was dusting the drawing-room in a cheerfully blind way peculiarly hers.

“The General’s hat, please, Martha, the white sun-hat with strings; it’s on my bed, I think, or a chair or somewhere—­oh! and bring down my large one with the poppies in, as well, please.”

Martha departed, and, after a little search, returned with the headgear.

And Esther tied the white sun-hat over her own curly, crinkly hair, and made the General crow with laughing from his seat on the hall table.  And then she popped it on the Captain’s head, and put the cabbage-tree on her son’s, and occupied several minutes thus in pretty play.

Finally they were ready, and moved down the hall.

“Master Bunty is locked in his room; on no account open the door, Martha,” was the Captain’s last command.

“Oh, Jack!” Esther said reproachfully.

“Oblige me by not interfering,” he said; “allow me a little liberty with my own children, Esther.  He is an untruthful little vagabond; I am ashamed to own him for my son.”

And Esther, reflecting on the many shiftinesses of her stepson, was able to console herself with the hope that it would do him good.

They went a shortcut through the bush to avoid the public road, and the blue, sun-kissed, laughing river stretched before them.

“There they are,” Esther cried, “in the old place, as usual, look at the fire, little sweet son; see the smoke, boy bonny—­four—­five of them.  Why, who have they got with them?” she said in surprise, as they drew nearer the group on the grass.