"Precisely the right size," Mr. Dale said.
Flat fields lay on one side, and on the other, beyond a space of untilled earth, lay a stiff row of red cottages. In front flowed a muddy stream, with flags along its edge, and behind were six or seven prim Lombardy poplars.
Mr. Dale was resolute in refusing to undertake "outside repairs," and for a minute Cragg felt disposed to show fight. But again those eyes came beseechingly to his; again he thought of Dot; and again he was vanquished,—he could not have told why.
The whole affair was quickly settled, and Mr. Dale strolled back to the inn with his daughter, Cragg going ahead at a brisker pace.
"That's a nice man, Pattie. A good sort of man, I'm sure. One is glad to have a pleasant landlord. It was quite an instinct that brought me here, wanting to see again the place where I was at school. All schoolboys are not happy, I suppose; but I was—happier than I have been since. Cheer up, little girl. We shall get on all right—now— I don't doubt."
A slight sob shook the girl's slender frame, but she allowed no sound of it to escape, and when she looked up there was a smile on her lips.
"Mr. Peterson won't be likely to find us out in Putworth, daddy."
"No, child, no."
"He won't think of looking for us in such a place."
"No, no, of course not. Why should he?"