“All right!” With a spring the boy leaped to the lawn and pranced to the sidewalk, dancing there on his toes. “I’ll show ye, Mr. Smith.”
The gentleman addressed rose to his feet.
“I thank you, Mr. Blaisdell,” he said, “and you, ladies. I shall hope to see you again soon. I am sure you can help me, if you will, in my work. I shall want to ask—some questions.”
“Certainly, sir, certainly! We shall be glad to see you,” promised his host. “Come any time, and ask all the questions you want to.”
“And we shall be so interested,” fluttered Miss Flora. “I’ve always wanted to know about father’s folks. And are you a Blaisdell, too?”
There was the briefest of pauses. Mr. Smith coughed again twice behind his hand.
“Er—ah—oh, yes, I may say that I am. Through my mother I am descended from the original immigrant, Ebenezer Blaisdell.”
“Immigrant!” exclaimed Miss Flora.
“An immigrant!” Mrs. James Blaisdell spoke the word as if her tongue were a pair of tongs that had picked up a noxious viper.
“Yes, but not exactly as we commonly regard the term nowadays,” smiled Mr. Smith. “Mr. Ebenezer Blaisdell was a man of means and distinction. He was the founder of the family in this country. He came over in 1647.”