“A visitor!”
“Yes; I saw Squire Pope stumping along the road, nourishing his gold-headed cane. He is headed this way, and it’s likely he is going to honor you with a call. He’s got somebody with him, too. Who is it!”
Philip shaded his eyes with his hand, for the Sun was near its setting, and shining with dazzling brightness from the quarter toward which he was looking.
“It’s Nick Holden!” he said.
“So it is! What can he want?”
“I understand very well. He wants my violin. He couldn’t get it at the sale, so he has come here to see if he can’t make me give it to him.”
“And will you?”
“You ought to know me better than to ask, Frank,” said Philip firmly. “Nick might as well have stayed away, for he won’t accomplish anything.”
Nick, however, held a different opinion. After Philip left the cottage, he had gone to Squire Pope, and cunningly asked:
“Are you going to let Philip keep his fiddle in spite of you, squire?”