Boy," calling the little fellow, who was now sobbing in bitterest contrition behind the wheeled chair, "come and kiss your mother.

Promise her that you will never again vex her by telling a lie." "No, no, no.

Me'll not vex mamma.

Good mamma! Pretty mamma! Boy so sorry!" And he clung closely and passionately to his mother, kissing her averted face twenty times over.
"You see, Helen, you need not fear," said the earl.
Helen burst into tears.
After that day it came to be a general rule that, when she could not manage him herself, which not infrequently happened--for the very similarity in temperament and disposition between the mother and son made their conflicts, even at this early age, longer and harder--Helen brought Boy up to the Castle and left him, sometimes for hours together, in the library with Lord Cairnforth.

He always came home to the Manse quiet and "good." And so out of babyhood into boyhood, and thence into youth, grew the earl's adopted son; for practically it became that relationship, though no distinct explanation was ever given, or any absolute information vouchsafed, for indeed there was none who had a right to inquire; still, the neighborhood and the public at large took it for granted that such were Lord Cairnforth's intentions toward his little cousin.
As for the boy's mother, she led a life very retired--more retired than even Helen Cardross, doing all her duties as the minister's daughter, but seldom appearing in society.