“Very well, Davidson, I hope we shall be friends. My name is Walter Parker, and I live in Cross Street.”
“So do I,” said Alfred. “I am staying with Mrs. Dawson.”
“I live next door, so we can go home together.”
These few words made Alfred feel quite happy, and at the invitation of his new friend he joined in the game of prisoner’s base. Walter Parker was thirteen years of age, a stout, well-built boy, although not very tall.
Alfred Davidson, although so young, had a voice of wonderful power and sweetness, and having been taught music by his mother for some time, he had at eight entered the choir of the parish church of Darlton, where he had continued his training for some three years. He had just succeeded in obtaining not only a place in the choir by competition, to the exclusion of Herbert King’s younger brother, but even the appointment of a probationer soloist, which was very unusual for so young a boy.
The deputy choir-master, who was also the schoolmaster, called the boys in to work. The room was under the cathedral library, and led out of the cloister.
“Alfred Davidson!” called Mr. Harmer.
“Davidson,” said Walter Parker to him, “‘uncle’ is calling you.”
“Is he your uncle?” inquired Alfred, as he moved out of his seat.
“No,” replied Walter; “but we always call him uncle behind his back.”