Cyril seized the bag eagerly, and with a grateful look, without waiting to thank her, he ran to Blackie and spread its contents out upon the floor. Then he really enjoyed seeing his pony eating the food with relish.
"Cyril! Cyril!" called Cynthy at last. "Come and have some dinner yourself."
All at once, feeling very hungry, Cyril returned to the other room and joined the others at the nice impromptu meal.
After it was over, and the things were cleared away—what was left of the food being carefully put by—Cynthy told Mr. Morton what she had already explained to Cyril, about the late owner of the house and his wicked successor. "He might have killed us too," she said in conclusion, "or at any rate have been very awkward, if I had not terrified him by pretending to be his late father. That was the only plan I could think of to frighten him away—yes, I see you look grave; it was trading on his fears, I know. But we really were in a desperate case. The horses could not possibly drag the sleigh another inch, and it was absolutely necessary we should have shelter from the snow."
"But what did that mean about Mr. Gerald? I did not quite understand," interposed Cyril. "Who is Mr. Gerald?"
"He is one of the best and gentlest of men," answered the girl, "so generous that he can never keep a cent in his pocket if he thinks anyone else has need of it. He told me once he had been extravagant and foolish in his youth away in England, and had done harm to a few people without really meaning it, and that made him very anxious to do all the good he could to others."
"A beautiful way of retrieving the past!" said Mr. Morton. "Would that everyone tried to do that sort of thing!"
"You said that exactly as Mr. Gerald might have done," exclaimed Cynthy, looking searchingly at her patient. "You do remind me of him."
"I believe you like Mr. Gerald a great deal," observed Cyril.
"I do indeed," said Cynthy, very earnestly.