The quaint politeness of his protégé charmed Markham by its contrasts to the manner of other boys with whom he had come into contact.
"Sit down, and take it easy. Shut the window. You never seem to be able to hear when the sash is raised."
"Us-all's been used, sir, to still places."
"Now, then! In a day or two we will be home, Sandford. Home in Bretherton, Mass. We can't offer you mountains there, but it is a good rolling country and it's—quiet! I'm going to choose a school for you as soon as I can, a country school where you can catch up without having the life nagged out of you."
"And—and where am I to work and—live, sir?"
"You'll find work enough at the school for the regular terms—summers you are going to stop with Miss Markham and me and I'll set you to work in my mills. I always set every one I take an interest in, to work in my mills."
"Yes, sir." Sandy's eyes were growing "strange" again. Markham was learning to watch for that look.
"What's the matter?" he asked on the defensive; "what you thinking about?"
"Only Smith Crothers' factory, sir, and—and the children."
"See here, Sandford; don't you get me mixed with that——" he stopped short. At times his ability to converse with Sandy struck even him with wonder. It was when he forgot the poor figure before him, and was held by the expression in the thin face, that he let himself go.