"Oh, it is more than that," said Mr. Hudspeth; "far more than that. All sensitive people are tender-hearted. One may read a book and yet not catch the message it conveys. But this lad"—He paused and suddenly changed the subject. "He said he could have Timoleon carried to the new stable, and you are inclined to be doubtful. But he can do more than that: he can have the horse removed without bridle or halter."
"Then you know our boy better than we do!" Mrs. Abercrombie's tone was almost reproachful.
"I found him out quite by accident," replied Mr. Hudspeth.
Little Crotchet in his quaint way called attention to the fact that he was blushing again. "You've made me blush twice," he said, "and I can't stay after that."
At a sign, Jemimy, the house girl, who was waiting on the table—the same Jemimy who afterward had a daughter named Drusilla—turned the lad's chair about. He balanced himself on his crutches, and without touching his feet to the floor walked across the room to the hall, and so up the stairway. On the landing he paused.
"Shall I have Timoleon put in the new stable to-night?" he asked.
"By all means, my boy—if you can," answered Mr. Abercrombie. "If you succeed I'll give you a handsome present."
Little Crotchet always paused on the stair landing to say something, but never to say good-night. After a while his mother would go up and sit with him a few minutes, by way of kissing him good-night, and, later, his father would make the same little journey for the same purpose.
On this particular night, those whom Little Crotchet had left at the table remained conversing longer than usual. Mr. Hudspeth had something more to say about humanity-culture; and although he employed "the Concord dialect," as Mr. Abercrombie called it, his discourse was both interesting and stimulating. In the midst of it Jemimy dropped a plate and broke it. The crash of the piece of china put a temporary end to the conversation, and the silence that ensued had its humorous side. Jemimy's eyes, big as saucers and as white, were turned toward a door that led to the sitting-room. The door softly opened, and a portly negro woman, with a bunch of keys hanging at her waist, came into the dining-room. This was Mammy Lucy, the housekeeper. She never once glanced toward her master and mistress.
"White er blue?" she inquired in a low voice.