Out of the cab the old gentleman stepped. He entered the hall. He was a very fussy old man, and did not want a young child to live in the house with him. He expected, too, that Mrs. Harvey's boy—he had undoubtedly a great contempt for poor young Harvey—would be a miserable, dwindled, wretched sort of creature. But, lo and behold! a little chap with head well thrown back, his eyes bright and lips brave, stepped up to him.
"Here I am, Uncle Stephen. I am Ronald. How do you do?"
"Bless my soul!" said the old man. "Let me look at you."
He drew the boy round so as to get the light on his face.
"'Pon my word!" he said, "you are not the sort of little chap I expected. You're uncommon like your father."
Ronald flushed with pride. Mr. Harvey came into the parlor and had a little talk with Mrs. Anderson.
"I am indeed indebted to you, madam," he said. "This boy is so surprisingly like my nephew that I could almost fancy the years had gone back and I was teaching the little chap to take his first gallop.—Your father was game on a horse, my lad."
"Yes, sir," said Ronald, nodding his head. "'Spect so, sir," he added. The old gentleman chucked him under the chin and uttered a laugh.
"Well, boy, we must be going," he said. "We mustn't keep your kind friend. You will let me know, madam, for what I am indebted to you."
"For nothing, sir," said Mrs. Anderson. A crimson color rushed into her face. "It has been a labor of love to help this dear little fellow. I could take no money; you mustn't even mention it, sir."