“Isn’t he stuck up?” said Peter.
“I mean to peek and see how he acts when he gets by himself,” said Bertie with his foot on the lower stair.
“Don’t do that, Bertie; mother, don’t let him,” said Peter.
His mother called him back, and he reluctantly sat down to await the conclusion.
At last they heard James, with a slow, hesitating step, descending the stairs. He paused long in the entry, and at length opening the door as cautiously as would a thief, crossed the room, and with a scared, troubled look, went and stood by the window with his back to all the inmates of the room, looking directly into the main road.
Mrs. Whitman found it somewhat difficult to compose her features as she said,—
“Come here, James, and let me see how they set; they may need some little alteration.”
When he turned, Mr. Whitman was looking straight at the crane, Peter was buried in the catechism which he held up to his face, while Bertie and Maria ran out to the barn and there vented their long suppressed feelings in peals of laughter, till they had obtained sufficient command of themselves to return to the house.
What unalloyed satisfaction, resulting from contributing to the happiness of others, predominated in the breasts of that household, as Mrs. Whitman turned James round and round, and invited the criticism of her husband as to the set of the garments. The grave features of Jonathan betokened a strong disposition to smile as he said,—
“I think they set well, and don’t see how you can alter them for the better.”