“It is of no use to talk of my being like my father,” said Tom.
Meta thought perhaps not, but she was full of admiration of his generosity, and said, “You will make it the same work of love, and charity is the true glory.”
Any inroad on Tom’s reserved and depressed nature was a benefit; and he was of an age to be susceptible of the sympathy of one so pretty and so engaging. He had never been so much gratified or encouraged, and, wishing to prolong the tete-a-tete, he chose to take the short cut through the fir-plantations, unfrequented on account of the perpendicular, spiked railings that divided it from the lane.
Meta was humming-bird enough to be undismayed. She put hand and foot wherever he desired, flattered him by letting him handily help her up, and bounded light as a feather down on the other side, congratulating herself on the change from the dusty lane to the whispering pine woods, between which wound the dark path, bestrewn with brown slippery needle-leaves, and edged with the delicate feathering ling and tufts of soft grass.
Tom had miscalculated the chances of interruption. Meta was lingering to track the royal highway of some giant ants to their fir-leaf hillock, when they were hailed from behind, and her squire felt ferocious at the sight of Norman and Harry closing the perspective of fir-trunks.
“Hallo! Tom, what a guide you are!” exclaimed Norman. “That fence which even Ethel and Mary avoid!”
“Mary climbs like a cow, and Ethel like a father-long-legs,” said Tom. “Now Meta flies like a bird.”
“And Tom helped me so cleverly,” said Meta. “It was an excellent move, to get into the shade and this delicious pine tree fragrance.”
“Halt!” said Norman—“this is too fast for Meta.”
“I cannot,” said Harry. “I must get there in time to set Dr. Spencer’s tackle to rights. He is tolerably knowing about knots, but there is a dodge beyond him. Come on, Tom.”