"I hear him coming," replied the mother.
"My daughter tells me that he is a violinist," remarked the scientist.
"Yes; Percival plays well," returned his mother simply. "He was worn out with his recitals last season, and we came here that he might have the benefit of outdoor air and exercise. He practices every day in the garden, and I think him much improved."
"Percival," as the boy entered the room, "do you see who has come? Doctor Raymond, this is my son. Miss Adele, this is Percival."
"Gee!" whispered the boy to Beatrice after he had made his devoirs. "That cousin of yours is pretty, Beefly, but I don't like her as much as I do you."
"You don't?" Beatrice was plainly amazed. "Why not, Percival?"
"Because a girl like that never thinks of anything but herself," he announced. "She couldn't be chums with me like you. I know 'em," concluded this experienced young man.
"How do you know?" asked Bee so delightedly that Mrs. Medulla glanced at her with a smile, well pleased to see her so bright.
"Would it be asking too much to desire your son to play for us?" inquired Adele sweetly. "We would like to be favored as well as Bee. Wouldn't we, Uncle William?"
"Certainly," answered the naturalist as in duty bound.