"Merely in the way of conversation." And she added, with her sweetest smile—"merely from a friendly interest. You are a nice boy, and you understand, I am sure."
He nodded; but his eyes, in their slumbrous wisdom, seemed almost contemptuous.
"Promise me," she insisted. "Promise me you will say nothing about it to anybody."
"Yes, I promise."
"You are a nice little boy—and I must go, now. I will call again in a day or two. Good by."
He bowed as he said good-by. Then he followed her out into the hall, ran before her and held the door wide open. As she passed out he bowed again; the same deferential obeisance with which he had first greeted her—as from Louis XIV to the Queen of Spain.
As Miss Clement crossed the common on her way home she saw a group of children looking skywards, and she heard the word "Eagle." She stopped, and also looked up. And as she looked, and watched the bird, floating tranquilly in the upper air, in a wide, slow circle, majestically, with no apparent effort, so high above the earth that he might be a visitor from another planet—she recalled the words of her recent host: "What's the use of crawling about on the earth like a bug? I'd rather be a bird."
An hour later Dr. Alton returned afoot. He had left his horse in the village to be shod. As he walked up the driveway he noticed a figure standing on the mounting block before the house. It was so enveloped in the golden glories of a setting sun that Dr. Alton failed, at first, to recognize his own son. The figure seemed a part of the sunset—more an ethereal spirit than an earthly boy. Cyrus was standing erect and motionless, his head thrown back as if inhaling inspiration from the radiance about him. Such prolonged and voluntary immobility would be unusual in any boy. Moreover, Cyrus maintained this attitude, forgetting—or ignoring—the customary greeting to his father. After waiting a moment before his strangely indifferent son, a feeling of uneasiness began to mingle with Dr. Alton's surprise.