“Is it good?” she asked, stacking the books which she had selected on the table, standing with her hand on them, looking down at her smiling father with serious face.
“I wouldn’t say that it would be good for a young lady with forty beaus and unable to choose among them, or for a frivolous young thing with three dances a week––” 204
“Oh, never more than two at the very height of social dissipation in Shelbyville!” she laughed.
He lifted a finger, imposing silence, and a laugh lurked in his eyes.
“No, I’d not say that such a light-headed creature would find much fodder in the ruminations and speculations and wise conclusions of our respected friend, Marcus,” said he. “But a lad like Joe Newbolt, with a pair of eyes in his head like a prophet, will get a great deal of good, and even comfort, out of that book.”
“We must get it from Judge Maxwell,” said she conclusively.
“A strange lad, a strange lad,” reflected the colonel.
“So tall and strong,” said she. “Why, from the way his mother spoke of him, I expected to see a little fellow with trousers up to his knees.”
She sat at the table and began cutting the leaves of a new magazine.
Colonel Price lifted his paper, smoothed the crumples out of it, adjusted the focus of his glasses, and resumed reading the county news. They seemed contented and happy there, alone, with their fire in the chimney. Fire itself is a companion. It is like youth in a room.