Greta sprang up from her seat, and putting her hand coaxingly upon Rebecca's arm said softly:
"Now, Becca, don't be cross. Mother and I are friends with Mr. Tracy, will you be friends too?"
"I assure you I am respectable," said Rufus, the humor of the situation bringing a mischievous sparkle to his eyes. "I am not a housebreaker in disguise, nor have I any sinister designs on your mistress or her daughter. Will it ease your mind if I tell you I am the son of a clergyman, and that it is only lately I have come to this neighborhood; I am a lonely young man in want of friends. Shall I promise never to enter this house again unless I am invited to do so? I only wish to continue an acquaintance with my little friend here!"
"Miss Greta is in no want of such unequal friendship," said Rebecca sternly.
"May I style myself her protector then, from all the perils of that solitary walk?"
"Perils! Fiddlesticks! Miss Greta must learn to take care of herself."
Rufus thought discretion was the better part of valor, so he bowed himself out, quietly resolving not to be worsted by a woman.
And Monday morning found the little maiden and young man walking cheerfully and contentedly into town together.
"Becca is very kind, but she doesn't think like mother," said the child, shrewdly, "and as she manages us, mother tries to think like her. Becca says there are only two sorts of people in the world. Those born to be helped, and those born to help them. And Becca says I am born to help people."
"I wonder which sort I am?" laughed Rufus. "You are a walking dictionary of Rebecca's wisdom. How do you remember all her sage remarks? She is bringing you up a veritable little Spartan."