touch of frost in the air (which we felt all the more after our
bonfire in the barn) had already made the snow crisp underfoot. It was
pleasant to be travelling like that so late at night with Mrs Cottier;
I felt like a knight who had just rescued a princess from a dragon; we
talked together as we had never talked before. Whenever we climbed a
bad combe she dismounted, and we walked together hand in hand like
dear friends. Once or twice in the quiet I thought I heard the noise
of the excisemen's horses, and then my heart thumped in my throat;
then, when I knew myself mistaken, I felt only the delight of being of
service to this dear woman who walked by me so merrily.

When we came to the foot of the combe, to the bridge over the
trout-stream, she stopped for a moment. "Jim," she said, drawing me to
her, "I shall never forget to-night, nor the little friend who rode
out to help me; I want you, after this, always to look on me as your
mother--I knew your mother a little, years ago. Well, dear, try to
think of me as you would of her, and be a brother to my Hugh, Jim: let
us all three be one family." She stooped down and kissed my cheek and
lips.

"I will, Mrs Cottier," I said; "I'll always be a brother to Hugh." I
was too deeply moved to say much more, for I had so long yearned for
some woman like my mother to whom I could go for sympathy and to whom
I could tell everything without the fear of being snubbed or laughed
at. I just said, "Thank you, Mims." I don't know why I called her
"Mims" then, but I did, and afterwards I never called her anything
else; that was my secret name for her. She kissed me again and stroked
my cheek with her hand, and we went on again together up the last
steep bit of road to the house. Always, after that, I never thought of
Mrs Cottier without feeling her lips upon my cheek and hearing the