“Give you good morrow, Master! I be loth to come betwixt you and your studies, but my need presseth me to pray of you the way unto Master Tremayne’s house the parson?”
The lad started on hearing a voice, hastily closed his book, and lifted a pair of large, dreamy brown eyes to Barbara’s face. But he seemed quite at a loss to recall what he had been asked to do.
“You would know?”—he said inquiringly.
“I would know, young Master,” returned Barbara boldly, “if your name be not Tremayne?”
“Ay so,” assented the boy, with a rather surprised look. “My name is Arthur Tremayne.” (A fictitious person.)
“And you be son unto Master Tremayne the parson?”
“Truly.”
“Verily I guessed so much, for his eyes be in your head,” said Barbara quaintly. “But your mouth and nose be Mrs Thekla’s. Eh, dear heart, what changes life bringeth! Why, it seemeth me but yestre’en that your father was no bigger than you. And every whit as much given to his book, I warrant you. Pray you, is my mistress your mother at home?”
“Ay, you shall find her there now,” said the boy, as he tucked the big book under his arm, and began to walk on in Barbara’s company. “I count you be our old friend, Barbara Polwhele, that is come with little Mistress Clare? My mother will be fain to see you.”
Barbara was highly gratified to find that Arthur Tremayne had heard of her already. The two trudged onwards together, and in a few minutes reached the ivy-covered parsonage, standing in its pretty flower-garden. Arthur preceded Barbara into the house, laid down his book on the hall window-seat, and opening a door which led to the back part of the house, appealed to an unseen person within.