Jim, telegraphing hundred-word messages as she carried William off; while Jim gave Scott his orders for the coming campaign. It was very late--nearly nine o'clock. “Jim, you're a brute,” said his wife, that night; and the Head of the Famine chuckled. “Not a bit of it, dear. I remember doing the first Jandiala Settlement for the sake of a girl in a crinoline, and she was slender, Lizzie. I've never done as good a piece of work since. He'll work like a demon.” “But you might have given him one day.” “And let things come to a head now? No, dear; it's their happiest time.” “I don't believe either of the darlings know what's the matter with them. Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it lovely?” “Getting up at three to learn to milk, bless her heart! Oh, ye Gods, why must we grow old and fat?” “She's a darling. She has done more work under me--” “Under you? The day after she came she was in charge and you were her subordinate. You've stayed there ever since; she manages you almost as well as you manage me.” “She doesn't, and that's why I love her. She's as direct as a man--as her brother.” “Her brother's weaker than she is. He's always to me for orders; but he's honest, and a glutton for work. I confess I'm rather fond of William, and if I had a daughter--” The talk ended. Far away in the Derajat was a child's grave more than twenty years old, and neither Jim nor his wife spoke of it any more. “All the same, you're responsible,” Jim added, a moment's silence. “Bless 'em!” said Mrs.