"We will continue our conversation to-morrow afternoon," said Mr. Willis pleasantly, as his uncle drove up, and brought the pony to a standstill. "I am afraid I have kept you waiting a long time, John," Mr. Bailey observed apologetically. "I was unexpectedly delayed at several places—How do you do, my lad?" he said, holding out his hand to Gilbert, who reached for his crutches and came forward to shake hands with him.
"I'm quite well, thank you," the boy answered. "What a nice little carriage! And, oh, I say, what a jolly little pony!"
"Yes," Mr. Bailey nodded complacently as his nephew took the seat by his side; "it's a trim turn-out altogether, isn't it? The pony is a rare one to travel, and such a strong, sure-footed little beast. Pixy, he's called. Why haven't you been to see us yet, eh?"
"He is coming to-morrow afternoon," Mr. Willis answered quickly; "I have been arranging it with him."
"That's right! That's right!"
Mr. Bailey gathered up the reins, and Pixy started off at a swift pace. Mr. Willis looked back and waved his hand to Gilbert, who, leaning on his crutches, stood gazing after the pony-carriage.
"That's a cross-grained boy, if I'm not much mistaken," the artist remarked shrewdly, "and a very unhappy one too. He is very different to the other Mickle children—perhaps his affliction has soured him."
"Perhaps so," Mr. Bailey agreed, "but I thought he looked bright enough to-day."
Meanwhile Gilbert had glanced at his watch, and had discovered that it was half-past one o'clock, which was his dinner-time. How the last hour had simply flown! What an interesting companion the artist was. And what good spirits he appeared to be in, considering his recent severe illness, and the disappointment which had attended it. Gilbert felt sure, under similar circumstances, he himself would be in a most depressed condition.
He turned towards the town, still thinking of Mr. Willis. He was glad he had met him, for now he had made his acquaintance he would not mind seeing him again, and although he had really desired to know him, he had dreaded the first interview. As a rule strangers were greatly struck by the boy's lameness, and if they did not remark on it in words, generally showed their sympathy for his affliction in their faces, which only annoyed him, for he strongly resented pity in any form. Certainly Gilbert Mickle's character was a strange one. On his return home he found his family already seated at the dinner-table, and his father, who liked punctuality, reproved him sharply for his tardy appearance. Contrary to his custom on such occasions, Gilbert explained how it was he had been delayed, and told how the time had flown.