And almost without knowing it the young Kentuckian bowed to Barbara, who courtesied and took his arm. But for his own dignity and hers, she would have liked to squeal her delight. The table flashed with silver and crystal on snowy-white damask and was brilliant with colored candles. The little woodsman saw the men draw back chairs for the ladies, and he drew back Barbara’s before Hugh, on the other side of her, could forestall him. On his left was Harry, and Harry he watched keenly—but no more keenly than Hugh watched him. Every now and then he would catch a pair of interested eyes looking furtively at him, and he knew his story was going the round of the table among those who were not guests in the house. The boy had never seen so many and so mysterious-looking things to eat and drink. One glass of wine he took, and the quick dizziness that assailed him frightened him, and he did not touch it again. Beyond Barbara, Hugh leaned forward and lifted his glass to him. He shook his head and Hugh flushed.
“Our Kentucky cousin is not very polite—he is something of a barbarian—naturally.”
“He doesn’t understand,” said Barbara quickly, who had noted the incident, and she turned to her cousin.
“Papa says you are going to live with us and you are going to study with Harry under Mr. Brockton.”
“Our tutor,” explained Harry; “there he is across there. He is an Englishman.”
“Tutor?” questioned the boy.
“School-teacher,” laughed Harry.
“Oh!”
“Haven’t you any school-teachers at home?”
“No, I learned to read and write a little from Dave and Lyddy.”