There was never a moment's doubt in his
eyes. He flung himself upon Peter's body, he wound his arms round Peter's
leg, he beat upon his chest with his bullet head, he cried: "Oh! Mr. Peter
has come! Mr. Peter has come!"
Mrs. Tressiter let the baby fall into the bath with a splash and there it
lay howling. The other members of the family gathered round.
But Peter thought that he had known no joy so acute for years as the
welcome that the small boy gave him. He hoisted Robin on to his shoulder,
and there Robin sat with his naked little legs dangling over, his hands in
the big man's neck.
"Oh! Mr. Westcott, I'm sure..." said Mrs. Tressiter, smiling from ear to
ear and wiping her wet hands on her apron--Robin bent his head and bit
Peter's ear.
"Get on, horse," he cried and for a quarter of an hour there was wild
riot in the Tressiter family. Then they were all put to bed, as good as
gold,--"you might have heard a pin drop," said Mrs. Tressiter, "when Agatha
said her prayers"--and at last the lights were put out.
Peter bent down over Robin's bed and the boy flung his arms round his neck.
"I dreamed of you--I knew you'd come," he whispered.
"What shall I send you as a present to-morrow?" asked Peter.
"Soldiers--soldiers on horses. Those with cannons and shiny things on their
backs...." Robin was very explicit--"You'll be here to-morrow?" he asked.
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