Philip returned to Hawk’s Nest by runs and leaps, a thing so unusual with him—for Philip was naturally indolent—that when his uncle, who was instructing the gardener about some planting-out, saw his nephew exhibiting such energy, he thought for a moment that the boy had taken leave of his senses.

“Ah, Philip!” he exclaimed, “what says our friend Cicero: ‘Potest exercitatio et temperantia etiam in senectute conservare aliquid pristini roboris’—exercise and temperance can preserve something of our early youth even in old age. You are starting exercise at last! But what news are you bringing that you run?”

Philip was panting and struggling for breath.

At last he said: “You were quite right, uncle. I said my say and I went, and I had not reached the top of Salters Lane before I heard steps behind me—running. It was my mother. Heavens! but what a girl she looked! She told me that I had performed a miracle, and then fled back to the dear patient. Uncle, I am in for a stepfather! and one who is not always sweet-tempered! There will be great changes for you, too, uncle. I should think you had better take on Mrs. Ransom when mother goes.”

“And what is to prevent Mrs. Henderson from having the post?” inquired Uncle Robert, as he pushed a cake of mud off his boot with a stick. “She is keeping house now, and doing it well, though Lane did think she was not much of a manager. Poor soul! she seems twice as happy being occupied. Between you and me, Philip, Lane never did see further than his nose. Look how little Phyll hoodwinked him! And Mrs. Henderson had never a chance with a sick husband and two healthy, unruly boys—and a house where the very door-knobs were off, and no money to speak of—Philip, don’t step on that bed! There are bulbs in it—Mrs. Henderson is a very intelligent woman. She admires ‘Wings and Winds,’ and can quote my verses. Speaking of those same verses, I heard from the publisher to-day that the whole edition was sold out. Think of that, my boy! The verses can’t be so bad as you thought them!”

“I am tremendously pleased, uncle,” said Philip, backing on to the bulbs again.

He was extremely puzzled all the same.

“Look here, Philip!” cried Uncle Robert, “you had better come in. You do nothing but trample down my beds, and the path is wide enough, I should think! Luncheon must be ready. Just notice how much brighter Mrs. Henderson is looking despite her dismal garb. She is not bad-looking either. Her grey hair becomes her.”

“I must get back, uncle, thank you,” said Philip. “I asked for Soda to be brought round by two o’clock.”

“But you must eat your luncheon, man!”

But Philip was obdurate. He knew that Alvin and Miss Le Breton were in Hastings, and that they were riding. He knew, too, that they would be returning about two o’clock, and he meant to join them as if by accident.

He knew nothing of Dan’s ill-success with his Madonna, and firmly believed the two young people were now engaged; but he saw no reason why he should not pick up a few of the crumbs that fell from the rich man’s table. He had got his own lonely life to lead, and now his work did not fill his life any longer. It did not satisfy the craving for love and sympathy. He found that the world he had created for himself was a very lonely world indeed; yet, so short a time ago, he had imagined it all-sufficient! The isolation of the bungalow had begun to be hard to endure. He felt it rather a grievance, too, that new people should be at Hawk’s Nest. It was an invasion of his home. Home? it would never be home again, with his mother gone!—his mother whom he had never valued half enough. Truly his world seemed to have crumbled away about him!

If Eweretta had only lived! How different it all might have been! If only Dan had not been in the running!—but he must never think of that!

Miss Le Breton, so like to Eweretta, but more than Eweretta had ever been in some ways! Eweretta had never that sweet calm which made her half-sister so restful! How desirable she was!

How Philip wanted rest! From what? From himself!

Philip rode slowly in the direction of Gissing, so that he had only got as far as Ore church when he heard the welcome clatter of horses’ hoofs behind, and drawing rein, waited for Miss Le Breton and Alvin to overtake him.

Philip uncovered as they came up.

“Hallo! Barrimore,” called Alvin. “You were the man in my mind! There are animated pictures—all Canadian—to-night at the Public Hall at eight o’clock. We are all driving in to see them; and there is a spare place. Won’t you come with us? You know a little of Canada, too. For us, it will be like going home.”

There was a curious choke in the Colonial’s voice which did not escape Philip.

“Yes, do come, Mr. Barrimore,” said Miss Le Breton.

That decided Philip.

“I should much enjoy it,” he said. “It is very kind of you to ask me to go with you.”

“You had better come back with us and have dinner. We are going to dine at five o’clock and dispense with tea to-day. Neither of us has had much luncheon, so we shall have a good appetite, I hope. But you——”

“I have not lunched at all,” Philip told them, “so I shall be able to do justice to dinner though it is early. I will come in about half-past four if I may.”

“Come as early as you like,” said Alvin.

The talk on the way was all of Canada, and Philip found himself wondering why Alvin had come to England, since he had apparently left his heart in Canada.

They walked their horses abreast unless the coming of a vehicle made it necessary to fall out of line, and it was Alvin who did most of the talking.

“This time of the year I should be hauling wheat into Broadview, as likely as not, if I were back in Canada,” he said. “I came over at the end of November, the only other time I came to England. I was ‘Batching’ with a young fellow then. Lord! how we worked to get all rounded up! We were loading all the Sunday, I remember. We took about five hundred bushels of wheat to Broadview, and put a new floor in the granary; got in and cut up the wood, lined up the shack, deepened and cribbed the wells all within the inside of a fortnight—and the temperature below zero!”

“I should think you feel yourself well out of all that,” suggested Philip.

“No, it sounds queer, but I don’t. I am always thinking what they are doing now out there. The true Canadian loves Canada as the Irish love Ireland. I don’t mean the sort that get dumped down there from England—cheeky, uppish, lazy chaps that turn tail at a bit of work. I mean Canadians.”

“But some Englishmen seem to get on in Canada,” ventured Philip.

“The right sort do,” acknowledged the Colonial, “but the right sort would get on anywhere.”

They parted company at the bungalow, and Philip went over to the White House later.

He was taken into the drawing-room by Mattie, where he found himself alone.

His eyes wandered round the room and fell on an enormous unopened parcel addressed to Miss Le Breton.

On the big white label was the name of Uncle Robert’s publisher.

Then Philip understood how a whole edition of “Wings and Winds” had been sold.