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you.”
    Sandy put down his five shillings and took the rifle in his hands; it was smooth and shiny. His heart was thumping with excitement.
    â€œYe’ll come pay me yer shilling every week, mind,” continued Mr. Hogg. “Any day that suits ye.”
    â€œI’ll pay you on Saturdays,” Sandy said quickly. “Can I take the gun now?”
    â€œSurely ye can,’” replied the saddler, smiling.
    Sandy took it and departed, walking on air. He was meeting his crony, David Brown, and they had arranged to go for a bike run together, but the new acquisition changed their plans. They rode up to the moors and spent the day shooting at rabbits instead—it was a splendid day.
    â€œWe’ll do this every Saturday,” Sandy declared as they rode home in the falling dusk, “and when the days get lighter, we could come up here after school.”
    David agreed enthusiastically.

Chapter Nine
    Mr. and Mrs. Bulloch were sitting by the fire. Mrs. Bulloch was knitting a gray sock, and Mr. Bulloch was reading out tidbits from the evening paper. They were very happy and completely in harmony. The fire burned merrily in the grate and was reflected in dancing points of light in the lenses of Mrs. Bulloch’s spectacles and on the highly polished surface of her knitting needles. Outside the wind howled, and now and then the windows rattled, but this only served to accentuate the comfort of the cozy room.
    Sue, who had taken an evening off, found her grandparents sitting there and felt a sudden surge of affection for them—like the affection felt by a traveler in foreign lands when he beholds the white cliffs of Dover looming out of the haze—here they were, and here they always would be, solid and reliable, and loyal. She had never realized before how much she loved them nor how much she depended upon their love.
    The Bullochs were delighted to see their granddaughter and to see her looking so well and happy. They did not rise to greet her, for it was not their nature to be demonstrative, but their two heads turned toward her, and their kind eyes smiled.
    â€œMy, you’re a stranger!” Mrs. Bulloch declared.
    â€œGranny and I were thinking you’d forgotten us,” added Mr. Bulloch.
    â€œIt’s my first outing,” Sue told them, “and I came straight here, so you don’t need to complain.”
    â€œYe’re liking it?”
    Sue nodded. She had established herself on a footstool between them and the glow of the fire was on her face. Mr. Bulloch thought that there was an “alive” look about her that had been absent from her since her mother’s death, and he noticed that the small bitter lines around her mouth were smoothed away.
    â€œIt’s good to be useful,” Sue said frankly. “It’s worthwhile. Yes, I’m liking it.”
    The Bullochs waited for a few moments, hoping for more information, but none was forthcoming.
    â€œIs Mrs. Darnay kind?” asked Mrs. Bulloch at last.
    Sue sighed. She had known that she would have some such question to answer. “Mrs. Darnay’s not there. She was called away—it was on business,” she added, hating the lie.
    â€œAnd the Frenchwoman. What like is she?” inquired Mr. Bulloch with interest. “She’s been in the shop once or twice and I’ve never cared for the look of her—a sly boots if ever there was one. Don’t you trust yon Frenchwoman a yard, Sue.”
    â€œShe’s not there either,” Sue said.
    â€œYe’re there alone!”
    â€œIt’s nicer, really. Grandfather’s right; she was a funny sort of woman. She nearly had me deafened with her talk the first night—it’s much better now she’s gone and I can do things my own way.”
    They looked at each other over Sue’s head and read a certain apprehension in each other’s eyes.
    â€œI’m thinking ye’d best come home, Sue,”