“Grandpapa,” said Bertie, looking across the table, “who is the pretty little girl who sat opposite in church, and talked to me afterwards?”
“That is little Miss Arbuthnot. She lives in the big white house next to ours.”
“Yes, I know; she told me so. She asked if I would play with her sometimes. May I?”
The Squire smiled a little.
“Oh dear, yes! as far as I am concerned you may; I have not the least objection for you to play with her. Whether she will be allowed to play with you is quite another matter.”
Bertie made no response. He was not quite sure that he understood the drift of this remark, and so he took refuge in silence.
After dinner he asked leave to go out alone. He wanted to go and see David, but he did not wish to disturb Mrs. Pritchard.
“You see she will like to have a quiet nap on Sunday afternoon,” he concluded, gravely, as if well acquainted with the habits of the elderly housekeeper.
The Squire’s eyes twinkled a little.
“Who told you that, young man?”