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It's a big thing this of adopting a child. What does Brace think of it?" "He adores everything Betty does. He says" Lynda smiled up into the face above her "he says he wishes Betty had chosen one with hair a little less crimson, but that doubtless he'll grow to like that tint better than any other." "Lyn, have you ever thought of adopting a child?" "Oh! sometimes. Yes, Con."
One morning Mary Bartley and her governess walked to a neighboring town and enjoyed the sacred delight of shopping. They came back by a short-cut, which made it necessary to cross a certain brook, or rivulet, called the Lyn.
It is like a miniature glen in the Alps or the Pyrenees, and every turn in the road up to the Waters-meet, where the Brendon joins the Lyn, discloses new beauties. It is an exquisite combination of wood, rock, and stream that baffles all description.
"It's home, now!" whispered Truedale as he let himself and Lynda in at the front door, "I wish Uncle William were here to welcome us. How he loved you, Lyn." Like a flood of joy memory overcame Lynda. This was how William Truedale had loved her this luxury of home and then she looked at Truedale and almost told him of the money, the complete assurance of the old man's love and trust.
Thus Robert Oliphant, M.A., had spoken to tailor Lyn, or so Lyn had declared, about his own foreknowledge of the plot; Lyn had blabbed; tailor Wilky had ‘pursued’ or attacked Lyn; and Alexander Wilky, who was bailie of the Canongate, enters into recognisances to the amount of 200l. that John Wilky shall not further molest Lyn. Now what had Oliphant said?
He dragged him instantly, by my directions, under the pump in the garden, and soused him for about two hours, but without producing the least effect, except eliciting a grunt or two from this most seasoned cask. "Such is Jem Lyn, and yet, absurd to say, I have tried the fellow, and believe him perfectly trustworthy at least to me!
After he learns to know and love the child," Betty mused, "the way will be opened. And oh! Lyn, Ann is so wonderful. She has the most remarkable character so deep and tenderly true for such a mite." "Suppose, Betty suppose Con notices the likeness!" At this Betty smiled reassuringly. "He won't. Men are so stupidly humble. A pretty little girl would escape them every time."
Exmoor is the only place remaining in the kingdom where the wild stag is still hunted with hounds, the season being in the early autumn, when all the inns are crowded, and on the day of a "meet" all the country seems alive. From Oare the valley of the Lyn can be followed down to the sea, flowing through its wooded gorge and disclosing many pretty views.
Truedale looked up and met the eyes that searched his soul. "I believe you," Lynda faltered. "I do not understand, but I believe you. Go away now, Con, I want to think." He rose at once and bent over her. "God bless you, Lyn," was all he said. Two days, then three passed.
But Ann was gazing up at her with a strange, penetrating look. "It's the comfiest lap in the world," she faltered, "for little, tired girls." "I I love her!" Lynda gazed up at Truedale as if confessing and, at the end, seeking forgiveness. "Of course you do!" he comforted, "but be brave, Lyn!" He feared to excite Ann. Then the weary eyes of the child turned to him.
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