The boy did not stir, and Mrs. Hewson, taking his little hand in hers, said—
“You need not go home for half-an-hour, Gahan; stay and have a chat with the servants in the kitchen, and leave little Billy with me—and with the apples and nuts”—she added, smiling as she filled the child’s hands with fruit.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” said the steward hastily. “I can’t stop—I’m in a hurry home, where I wanted to leave this brat to-night; but he would follow me. Come, Billy; come this minute, you young rogue.”
Still the child looked reluctant, and Mr. Hewson said peremptorily.
“Don’t go yet, Gahan; I want to speak to you by-and-bye; and you know the mistress always likes to pet little Billy.”
Without replying, the steward left the room; and the next moment his hasty footsteps resounded through the long flagged passage that led to the offices.
“There’s something strange about Gahan, since his wife died,” remarked Mrs. Hewson. “I suppose ’tis grief for her that makes him look so darkly, and seem almost jealous when any one speaks to his child. Poor little Billy! your mother was a sore loss to you.”
The child’s blue eyes filled with tears, and pressing closer to the lady’s side, he said:—
“Old Peggy doesn’t wash and dress me as nicely as mammy used.”
“But your father is good to you?”