"And how did you go to work?" questioned Jacob, with a grim smile, "I've tried it myself; but we're a tough family to mould over; I never could do more than make a tolerably honest man out of my share of the old stock."
"Oh, Robert was naturally gifted," answered Mrs. Gray, with great complacency.
"He did not get it from our side of the house, that's certain," muttered Jacob; "the very gates on the old farm always swung awkwardly."
"But his father—he was an 'Otis,' you know—Robert looks a good deal like his father, and took to his learning just as naturally as he did to the new milk. He was born a gentleman. I remember Mr. Leicester said these very words the first time he came here."
Jacob gave a start, and clenching his hand, said, only half letting out his breath—"Who, who?"
"Mr. Leicester, the best friend Robert ever had. He used to come over to the Island to board sometimes for weeks together, for there was deer in the woods then, and fish in the ponds, enough to keep a sportsman busy at least four months in the year. He took a great notion to Robert from the first, and taught him almost everything—no school could have made Robert what he is."
"And this man has had the teaching of my sister's child!" muttered Jacob, shading his face with one hand. "Everywhere—everywhere, he trails himself in my path."
Mrs. Gray looked at her brother very earnestly. "You are tired," she said.
"No, I was listening. So this man, this Mr. Leicester—you like him then? he has been good to you?"