Valentine was puzzled. He took off his cap, looked into it, and put it on again. Smiling on Ivo, he said at last, "Well, let it be so; I don't want to fret the child. Ivo, you may raise it, but you must find the food for it."
The butcher walked away, his dog barking as he ran before him, as if to give vent to his master's vexation. He made a rush at Valentine's geese and chickens, and scattered them in all directions: it is the way with underlings to expend their ill will on the dependants of their master's foes.
The thought that he had saved the calf's life made Ivo very happy; yet he could not but feel sore at the idea that, but for an accident, his father would have broken the promise he had made him. He forgot all this, however, when the time came for him to lead his pet out into the grass and watch it while grazing.
One afternoon Ivo stood holding Brindle by the tether while it browsed. With a clear voice he sang a song which Nat had taught him. The tones seemed to tremble with half-suppressed yearnings. It was as follows:--
"Up yonder, up yonder, At the heavenly gate, A poor soul is standing In sorrowful strait.
"Poor soul of mine, poor soul of mine, Come hither to me, And thy garments shall be white As wool to-see.
"As white and as pure As the new-driven snow, And, hand in hand, together Into heaven we'll go.
"Into heaven, into heaven, Upon the heavenly hill, Where God Father, and God Son, And God the Spirit dwell."
[Illustration: Emmerence was driving some young ducklings before her.]
Hardly was the song ended when he saw Emmerence coming toward him from the brick-yard. With a dry fir-twig she was driving some young ducklings before her. On coming up to Ivo she stopped and began to talk.
"Oh, you can't think," said she, "what trouble I had getting my four ducklings out of the puddle in the brickyard. Four gray ones and two white, you see. They're just a week old now. Only think, my mother made a hen sit on the eggs, and now the hen won't take care of 'em: they run about, and nobody looks after 'em at all."
"They're orphans," said Ivo, "and you must be their mother."
"Yes, and you don't know how pitifully they can look at you one-sided,'--this way." She laid her head on one side, and looked up at Ivo prettily enough.