"How hot that boy will make himself before we get to church," said Sir Everard, presently; "I really don't know what he is made of, to run on a day like this."
"He is a fine boy," said Uncle Charlie, as he watched the active little figure skipping over the flower-beds, "and seems as strong and well as possible."
"Yes," said the baronet, "Humphrey has never had a day's illness in his life. He takes after my family, and is going to be as strong and as tall as they."
"He is very like some of the old family pictures I was looking at this morning; the same upright, well-built figure, and dark eyes. Now Miles is altogether different, so fair and slender."
"I fear Miles inherits his mother's constitution," answered the baronet, in a troubled tone. "He is very delicate, Charlie, and the least chill brings on croup, or a nasty little cough. I feel very anxious about him sometimes."
"I daresay he will grow out of it. I believe I had a delicate chest at his age, and I am never troubled with it now."
They were some way down the avenue, and Humphrey was nowhere to be seen.
"I never wait for him," said Sir Everard, as he opened the park gates; "he always turns up at last."
They were half-way across the churchyard when the boy overtook them, flushed and breathless.