“I don’t know. He said he had been walking since six o’clock this morning.”
“Then he must belong to the Frosts of Oakwood. I’ll ask him.”
“Are they nice people?”
“They are good farming folks. Mr. Frost is rather strict, but he is a good man, and they have a lovely home.”
Bobby had seated himself on the doorstep, and was waiting as patiently as possible for the dinner to appear.
“Aren’t you from Oakwood?” questioned the woman.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I know your folks. Your father is Wilson Frost.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, I’ll give you your dinner for nothing.”