Aunt Maggie answered him with her thoughts: "I think they must be going to the Manor, dear. I expect they are Lord Burdon's servants."
"Well, I'm sure he was a clown," Percival answered. But a few paces farther up the road, stepping into it from a footpath over the fields, a little old gentleman was met, whom Aunt Maggie greeted as Mr. Amber, and who verified her opinion.
"The family is coming down the day after to-morrow," Mr. Amber said, "as I was telling you last week. Servants are to arrive to-day. I think I saw them in the wagonette as I came down the path. And how are you, Master Percival? I hope you are very well."
Percival put his small hand into the extended palm. "I'm very well, Mr. Amber, thank you. One of them was a clown, you know. He made a face at me—like this."
"God bless my soul, did he indeed?" Mr. Amber exclaimed.
"Yes, he did," said Percival. "Just make it back again to me, will you please, so I can see if I showed you properly?"
But Mr. Amber declined the experiment. "The wind might change while I was doing it," he said, "and then I should be like that always."
"Oh, I shouldn't mind," Percival declared.
"But I should," said Mr. Amber, and poked Percival with his stick.
They were very close friends, Percival and this bent old librarian, permanently located at Burdon Old Manor in those days and a constant visitor at "Post Offic" for the purpose of enjoying the affection displayed in his silvery old face as it watched the glowing young countenance upturned to it. "But I should," said he; "and what would they think of me in there?"