"This," said his grandmother, with the Tallmadge insistence on French still rankling, apparently—"this is not a 'cut,' as you call it; and that person approaching is not walking in the 'rud.' You are losing some of your twang, but thy speech still bewrayeth thee. Perhaps learning to talk like a Gano, since you are one, would be a fitting task for the holidays here. Say 'co-o-at.'" He repeated the word in a shamefaced way. "Now 'road.' Yes, that's right." She drew back suddenly and faced about. "Some one's coming in!" she whispered, hurriedly, as who should say "An enemy is at the gate."
She stalked behind the house with Ethan at her side, while Aunt Valeria went forward and greeted the visitor.
"Why, it's the same gentleman who has been here twice before," Ethan observed, looking back.
"Are you sure?" said Mrs. Gano, stopping short. "Was that Tom Rockingham again?"
"I don't know his name," answered Ethan, wondering what awful sin Tom Rockingham could have committed.
"Little, insignificant-looking man?" demanded his grandmother.
"He wasn't very big," admitted the child. "It's the one that walked home from church, as far as the corner, with Aunt Valeria and me last Sunday."
"Upon my word!" she ejaculated. "Has Tom Rockingham begun that?"
"I didn't hear his name."