"Oh, thank you!" Billy answered, gratefully. "Shall I have leather leggings like yours, Grandfather?" he asked.
"We'll see!" was the smiling response.
A ten minutes' walk brought them to the village—a few thatched cottages dotted around the church and churchyard. The railway-station, Billy learnt, was half a mile distant in the valley, and the vicarage was midway between the church and the railway-station.
"That's the post office," said William Brown, pointing at a semi-detached cottage with several bottles of sweets and some groceries in the window. "And there's Elizabeth!" he added, as a stout figure, in a dark stuff gown nearly covered by a big white apron, appeared in the doorway.
Mrs. Dingle nodded to her stepfather, and kissed Billy, telling them she had been on the look-out for them ever since dinner.
"And here's Uncle John!" she cried, pulling Billy inside the door and presenting him to a little dark man wearing spectacles, who came from behind the shop counter and peered at him in a near-sighted way.
"Very glad to make your acquaintance, my boy!" declared John Dingle, shaking Billy's hand heartily. "Yes," he said, "I see he's like his father, Elizabeth; but he looks very pale—"
"He's been through enough to make him pale!" broke in his wife. "Come into the parlour, Billy, and talk to me whilst I get tea."
Leaving his grandfather with the postmaster, Billy followed Mrs. Dingle into a tiny parlour behind the shop. It was divided from the shop by a door, the top half of which was of glass with a lace curtain across it. Mrs. Dingle put the kettle on the fire and laid the table for tea. The children were at school, she said, but would be home very shortly, and she did hope he and her boy, Harold, would be friends. Very soon Billy felt quite at ease with her, and began telling her about himself and how sadly he missed his mother. She shed tears when he spoke of his mother, whilst an expression of deep regret settled on her rosy face.
"I wish I'd known her!" she sighed. "Often I used to think I'd write to her, but I never did—not being much of a hand with my pen. And now it's too late! Hark! The children are out of school!"