The day was full of novelty and delight to the city boy, as, under Uncle Alec's guidance, he went about the farm, and visited the horses in the stable, the cattle in the pasture, the pigs in the stye; and then, with Aunt Martha, inspected the dairy, a big cool room in a small building, well shaded by trees, where long rows of shallow pans stood filled with rich milk or golden cream; while just before tea, Aunt Sarah claimed him for a walk in the garden, where tiger lilies, hollyhocks, mock oranges, peonies, and other old-fashioned flowers grew in gay profusion.
Grandmother was too much engrossed with her daughter to pay much attention to Bert that day. Yet he had more than one token of affection at her hands; and, taken altogether, it was a very happy day.
After tea, Mrs. Lloyd took her son off for a little chat alone, wishing to draw him out as to his first impressions.
"Have you had a happy day, Bert?" she asked.
"Yes, indeed, mother. It has been just splendid. I think grandmamma and uncle and my aunties are lovely, but"—and here Bert hesitated as if afraid to finish his remark.
"But what, Bert?" asked Mrs. Lloyd. "What were you going to say when you stopped?"
"I don't like grandpapa, mother," said Bert, after a little pause, bringing the words out slowly, and then adding, almost in a whisper, "I'm afraid of grandpapa, mother."
"Hush, Bert. You shouldn't say that you don't like your grandfather. But, tell me, why are you afraid of him?"
"Oh, because he seems so cross, and isn't kind to me like the others."
"But he isn't really cross, Bert. He loves you quite as much as the others do, but then he is an old man and has a great deal to think about. Now, Bert darling, I want you to learn to love your grandpapa, and to try and never be any bother to him. You will, won't you?"