“That must be where the two young imps fought,” he murmured, with a smile, as he looked into the yard. “Gad! as Heronsdale says, I’d like to have seen the battle. And my boy whipped the other chap, who was bigger and older, the paper said.”
Soon the two men were climbing the slight acclivity on which stood the White House. The door stood hospitably open, as was ever the case about tea-time in fine weather. In the front kitchen was Martha, alone.
The colonel advanced.
“Is Mr. Bolland at home?” he asked, raising his hat.
“Noa, sir; he isn’t. But he’s on’y i’ t’ cow-byre. If it’s owt important——”
He followed her meaning sufficiently.
“Will you oblige me by sending for him? And—er—is Mrs. Bolland here?”
“I’m Mrs. Bolland, sir.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon. Of course, I did not know you.”