"What were you doing there? I should not have thought there was much attraction in a lumber-room."
Theodore raised his eyes to his father's face, and hesitated, but only for a moment.
"I was hiding," he said slowly.
"I suppose you were shy," Mr. Barton remarked, his grave face relaxing into a smile, as he shook hands with his son, and then continued, "Now, I want to introduce you to my wife. Mary, this is Theodore. Theodore, here is a lady who is very anxious to know you; and if you are good—"
"Oh! I am sure he is good," interrupted a voice, somewhat hurriedly, and a figure that had been seated in an easy chair by the fire rose with a kind of nervous haste, and came forward. Theodore looked at the stranger from head to foot, steadily. He saw a slight, graceful figure, a pair of soft brown eyes, and a gentle face crowned with dusky hair.
Mrs. Barton took the boy's limp hand, and smiled kindly at him. He thought she meant to kiss him, as, indeed, she had intended, but he drew hastily back, and met her friendly glance with one of proud defiance.
"I hope we shall be friends," she said. "You will try to like me, will you not, my dear?"
Theodore made no answer; he seemed perfectly tongue-tied. Mrs. Barton cast an imploring look at her husband not to interfere; and with a slightly impatient gesture he turned away, and looked out of the window.
Meanwhile Theodore's eyes had wandered to the sofa, whereon lay a boy of about his own age,—a boy with a mass of short golden curls, soft brown eyes, and a thin, pale face. The brown eyes were watching Theodore with great interest, and now they smiled at him, whilst a slender hand was extended in greeting. Theodore gazed in surprise, for the strange boy looked ill and delicate; so altogether different from what he had pictured him.
"Come and speak to my little son," Mrs. Barton said.