Then right into the midst of this domestic scene there entered callers.
Carey was singing when the knock came, and did not hear them; or else he would most surely have disappeared. It was a way Carey had. But the knock came twice before Louise heard it and slipped to the door, letting in the strangers, who stood listening at the door, motioning to her to wait until the song was finished.
Then Mr. Copley saw them, and arose to come forward. Carey, feeling some commotion, turned; and the song stopped like a shot, a frown of defiance beginning to grow between his brows.
The strangers were a man and a woman, and a young girl a little older than Louise and younger than Cornelia; and one could see at a glance that they were cultured, refined people, though they were quietly, simply dressed. Carey, in his gray flannel shirt open at the neck and the old trousers in which he had assisted in the last rites of putting the room in perfect order, looked down at himself in dismay, and backed precipitately around the end of the piano as far out of sight as possible, meeting the intruders with a glare of disapproval. Cornelia was the last to stop playing and look around, but by that time the lady had spoken.
“Oh, please don’t stop! We want to hear the rest of the song. What a beautiful tenor voice!”
Cornelia arose to her duties as hostess, and came forward; but the man by this time was introducing himself.
“I hope we haven’t intruded brother.” He grasped Mr. Copley’s welcoming hand. “I’m just the minister at the little church around your corner here, and we thought we’d like to get acquainted with our new neighbors. My name is Kendall, and this is my wife and my daughter Grace. I brought the whole family along because I understood you had some daughters.”
“You’re very welcome,” said Mr. Copley with dignity that marked him a gentleman everywhere. “This is my daughter Cornelia; this is Louise, and Harry; and”—with an almost frightened glance toward the end of the piano, lest he might already have vanished—“this is my son Carey.”
There was something almost proud in the way he spoke Carey’s name, and Cornelia had a sudden revelation of what Carey, the eldest son, must mean to his father in spite of all his sharpness to the boy. Of course Carey must have been a big disappointment the last few months.
Carey, thus cornered, instead of bolting, as his family half expected of him, came forward with an unexpected grace of manner, and acknowledged the introduction, his eyes resting interestedly on the face of Grace Kendall.