“Now we will come and see my pony.”
When Bertie found himself in the stable, he seemed more at home than he had done in the farmyard. He went boldly up to the pony in his box, and stroked and caressed him as if he had known what it was to be on friendly terms with a horse before. The creature responded to his advances and Queenie looked on with a gracious air of approval.
“Why, here is papa!” she cried, suddenly; and Bertie turned round in time to see the gentleman who had stopped the Squire on Sunday entering by the stable door.
“Hullo, Queenie! what are you doing here?” was the quick inquiry; “and what would mamma say?”
“I am showing Bertie my pony,” answered Queenie, running up and taking her father’s hand coaxingly. “I didn’t come alone. I had Bertie with me. You know who Bertie is, don’t you, papa? The little boy who lives with the Squire now.”
Of course Sir Walter had heard the romantic story, and he looked at the child with kindly interest. Bertie took off his cap and gave his hand to the baronet with the gentle courtesy characteristic of him.
“Well, my little lad, and how do you like your new home?” he asked.
Bertie’s eyes grew vaguely sorrowful.
“Everybody is very kind,” he said; adding after a short pause, and rather inconsequently, “Your little girl has been showing me her chickens and her pony.”
“That is right, that is right; and have you enjoyed yourself?”