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Barnabas gave a low whistle.

“Your mother must be a very remarkable woman,” he said.

There was a moment’s pause, while Sally looked at him and at the white butterfly which had returned to perch upon his sleeve. Then a sudden spirit of mischief, born of the wind of the morning, took possession of Barnabas.

“I hope we didn’t disturb your mistress with our singing last night,” he said. There was a little glint of gay devilry in his eyes.

“Oh, no, sir,” said Sally quickly. “I asked her ten minutes ago, sir, and she said, ‘Bless you, no, child. Enjoyed it. They sounded so delightfully young and happy. Like to have that kind of lullaby every night.’”

Sally was an unconscious mimic. Barnabas got a sudden and not inaccurate mental image of Miss Mason as she spoke the words. A little pang of remorse, not unlike the pang he had experienced at the thought of the butterflies, smote him as he remembered his half-joking conversation with Dan.

“Give your mistress my compliments, and tell her I am glad we didn’t disturb her. Also that I shall do myself the pleasure of calling upon her at no very distant date.”