“Well, well. If I’m not at home ask for Mrs. Simcoe, d’ye hear? Mrs. Simcoe. She will attend to you.”
Abel bowed very respectfully and as if he were controlling a strong desire to kneel and kiss the foot of his Holiness, Christopher Burt; but he mastered himself, and Hiram opened the front door.
“Good-by, Hiram,” said. Abel, putting a piece of money into his hand.
“Oh no, Sir,” said Hiram, pocketing the coin.
Abel walked sedately down the steps, and looked carefully around him. He scanned the windows; he glanced under the trees; but he saw nothing. He did every thing, in fact, but study the house which he had been asking permission to draw. He looked as if for something or somebody who did not appear. But as Hiram still stood watching him, he moved away.
He walked faster as he approached the gate. He opened it; flung it to behind him, broke into a little trot, and almost tumbled over Gabriel Bennet and Little Malacca as he did so.
The collision was rude, and the three boys stopped.
“You’d better look where you’re going,” said Gabriel, sharply, his cheeks reddening and swelling.
Abel’s first impulse was to strike; but he restrained himself, and in the most contemptuous way said merely,
“Ah, the Reverend Gabriel Bennet!”