'Yes, gran'ma.'

'Can't you say anything but "yes"?'

Mrs. Egerton's tone was a little impatient.

'I don't know nothing but "yes" to speak,' faltered Bobby, hanging his head.

'You seem to have talked fast enough to your uncle.'

Mrs. Egerton regarded him closely for a minute. Bobby began to feel more and more uncomfortable. Then his grandmother got up with a little sigh.

'You are not a bit like your mother; you are an Allonby all over. Now don't let me hear any more of this nonsense! Your home is with me; we never talk to you about your father, because we do not even know if he is alive. He has never written or taken the slightest interest in you after your poor mother sent you to us.'

She got up and rustled out of the room. Bobby looked after her perplexedly.

Why didn't his grandmother want him to have a father, he wondered? And what else could he say but 'yes' to her? If he had said 'no,' she would have been angry. Grown-up people were very difficult to understand. He turned to n.o.bbles to console him. He always smiled at him, and loved him.

Chapter III.

THE BEAUTIFUL PICTURE.

And so the house slipped back again to its gravity and silence, and the child played about in the shrubberies and sat in the apple-tree gazing wistfully up the dusty high-road. And deep down in his heart the hope still lingered that his father would appear one day. Spring turned into summer, and Bobby spent most of his days out of doors. One afternoon his nurse took him to a farm. She was great friends with the farmer's wife, and Bobby loved a visit there, for he was allowed to wander about round the farm and watch the farm hands in their various occupations. This afternoon he crossed a field to see a young colt.

He was laughing heartily as he watched its frisky antics, when from the lane that was on one side of the field, a big black retriever appeared, barking furiously.

Bobby was not accustomed to dogs. 'The House' kept none, and with his heart in his mouth he turned and fled. The retriever pursued him, evidently showing by his gambols that he wanted to play. Somehow or other n.o.bbles slipped from his grasp as he ran, and in an instant the dog had seized hold of him and, bounding over the hedge, carried him away in his mouth.

This awful tragedy brought Bobby to his senses. He was panic-stricken no more, but scrambled as fast as he could into the lane. He was the pursuer now; the big black dog was trotting slowly up the road, and he trotted as hard as he could go after him.

It was of no use to call after the robber. Once Bobby did so, but the dog only turned his head to look at him, and then began to trot faster than ever. Bobby's short legs did not make rapid progress. Soon he began to feel dreadfully tired. Up the lane, out on the highroad, up another side road, and finally through some big iron gates towards an old red-brick house that stood in the midst of bright flowerbeds and green lawns. The big dog led his pursuer deliberately on, and Bobby, heated and footsore, had no thought but to follow.

There was a lady sitting at tea under some shady trees upon the lawn.

The retriever made his way straight to her, and dropped the stick at her feet. Bobby came shyly forward, and the lady looked at him in surprise. She was dressed in deep mourning, and had a very sad face, and, though she looked young, her hair was as white as snow.

'Who are you, little boy; and what do you want?'

'I'm Bobby, and that dog took away n.o.bbles. I've runned after him 'bout twenty miles!'

He picked up his beloved stick, kissed the ugly little smiling face, then produced a very small handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping n.o.bbles all over very carefully.

The lady looked at him with a puzzled smile.

'You look hot and tired,' she said; 'sit down, and I will give you some strawberries and cream.'

Bobby's eyes brightened. He sat down on the gra.s.s and looked up at the lady.

'Is that dog yours?' he asked.

'Yes; his name is Lucky. That's a funny name, isn't it? It was very naughty of him to run away with your stick. I must punish him by not giving him any cake.'

She shook her head at Lucky, who was sitting up on his haunches with his tongue hanging out, watching his mistress with beseeching brown eyes.

Bobby looked at him severely.

'He is a robber! Poor n.o.bbles must have thought he was being taken off by a lion. I expec' he was dre'ffully frightened. You see, n.o.bbles isn't just a stick at all.'

'What is he? I see he has a wonderful head!'

'Yes; he's n.o.bbles.' He paused, then added impressively: 'He's my 'ticylar friend; we always live together. He understands all I say, but he can't speak.'

'I see.'

The lady smiled upon him very pleasantly, then she handed him a delicious plate of strawberries, and Bobby set to work at once. He thought he had never tasted anything so nice, and in the middle of it he looked up a little anxiously.

'Poor n.o.bbles can't eat at all. It's such a pity. He doesn't grumble, but when I have anyfing _very_ nice he looks in his eyes as if he could cry; only he doesn't, for he never leaves off smiling.'

'He's a splendid little friend to have,' the lady said cheerfully. 'I wonder where you live?'

'In the House, with nurse and grandmother.' He heaved a sigh. 'We shall have to go back soon.'

'I suppose you know the way; but you're a very little boy to be out alone.'

'I had to run after Lucky; Nurse was at Mrs. Tikes'.'

'Tikes' Farm? That is some way from here.'

'Is it twenty miles?'

'No, but it is nearly two. I expect your nurse will wonder where you are.'

'I expec' she will; but I likes being here. Are you a proper grown-up person?'

'How do you mean?'

Bobby frowned; he couldn't always put his thoughts into words.

'You talk so nice to me; I can't talk to grown-up people, acept Master Mortimer. At least I can say "Yes" and "No" to them. That's what children should talk, grandmother says.'

'I'm so glad you think I talk nice to you. I can't talk to grown-up people either. I live alone here--so alone now--so alone!'

She sighed, and fell into such deep thought that Bobby wondered if she would ever speak to him again. At last he ventured:

'I've got a father coming for me one day.'

'Have you really? Tell me about him.'

So Bobby told her of his never-fading hope, and she listened and smiled, and then ordered her pony-trap round, and tucking Bobby in beside her, drove him along the road by which he had come. They very soon met Nurse toiling along, with a heated, anxious face, and Bobby began to feel rather ashamed of himself. But the lady seemed to put matters straight at once with her soft voice and pleasant smile. And then she stooped and kissed the small boy by her side.