Dick in his embarrassment had swallowed a large spoonful of hot soup, which made him turn red in the face. For the second time, in spite of the prospect of the best dinner he had ever eaten, he wished himself back in Mott Street. Henry Fosdick was more easy and unembarrassed than Dick, not having led such a vagabond and neglected life. But it was to Dick that Ida chiefly directed her conversation, having apparently taken a fancy to his frank and handsome face. I believe I have already said that Dick was a very good-looking boy, especially now since he kept his face clean. He had a frank, honest expression, which generally won its way to the favor of those with whom he came in contact.
Dick got along pretty well at the table by dint of noticing how the rest acted, but there was one thing he could not manage, eating with his fork, which, by the way, he thought a very singular arrangement.
At length they arose from the table, somewhat to Dick’s relief. Again Ida devoted herself to the boys, and exhibited a profusely illustrated Bible for their entertainment. Dick was interested in looking at the pictures, though he knew very little of their subjects. Henry Fosdick was much better informed, as might have been expected.
When the boys were about to leave the house with Mr. Greyson for the Sunday school, Ida placed her hand in Dick’s, and said persuasively, “You’ll come again, Dick, won’t you?”
“Thank you,” said Dick, “I’d like to,” and he could not help thinking Ida the nicest girl he had ever seen.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Greyson, hospitably, “we shall be glad to see you both here again.”
“Thank you very much,” said Henry Fosdick, gratefully. “We shall like very much to come.”
I will not dwell upon the hour spent in Sunday school, nor upon the remarks of Mr. Greyson to his class. He found Dick’s ignorance of religious subjects so great that he was obliged to begin at the beginning with him. Dick was interested in hearing the children sing, and readily promised to come again the next Sunday.
When the service was over Dick and Henry walked homewards. Dick could not help letting his thoughts rest on the sweet little girl who had given him so cordial a welcome, and hoping that he might meet her again.
“Mr. Greyson is a nice man,—isn’t he, Dick?” asked Henry, as they were turning into Mott Street, and were already in sight of their lodging-house.