The boy was obviously her son, and in spite of his overalls and frayed straw hat, he was a handsome little chap. He looked at you shyly from under a crop of curly hair, with half closed eyes, giving you the impression that you were being “sized up” by a very discriminating individual; and when he smiled, 15 as he did frequently, he revealed a set of very white and perfect teeth. When he was silent, there was a little lifting of the inner brow which gave him a thoughtful look quite beyond his years; and you were sadly mistaken if you imagined that you could form a correct impression of Nicholas Burke at the first interview.
The man wore a sandy beard, but no mustache, and had a downcast, meekly submissive air, probably the depressing effect of many years of severe domestic discipline.
Mrs. Burke was evidently surprised to find no one there but the man on the suit-case; but as he rose and lifted his hat, she hesitated a moment, exclaiming:
“I beg pardon, but I was lookin’ for a parson who was to arrive on this train. You haven’t seen anything that looked like a parson, have you? You can generally spot ’em every time.”
The young man smiled.
“Well, no; I seem to be the only passenger who got off the train; and though I’m a clergyman, you don’t seem to find it easy to ‘spot’ me.”
Mrs. Burke, with a characteristic gesture, pulled her glasses forward with a jerk and settled them firmly back again on the bridge of her nose. She surveyed the speaker critically as she questioned: 16
“But you don’t seem to show the usual symptoms—collar buttoned behind, and all that.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Madam, but I never travel in clerical uniform. Can’t afford it.”
“Well, you’ve got more sense than most parsons, if I may say so. Maybe you’re the one I’m lookin’ for: Mr. Donald Maxwell.”