First of all, he met the American lad in the hallway, and was pleased to see him doff his bit of a cap. Not many, nowadays, uncovered a head to him. The American lad was going down; Adelbert was climbing, one step at a time, and carrying a small basket of provisions.
The American boy, having passed, turned, hesitated, went back. “I’d like to carry that for you, if you don’t mind.”
“Carry it?”
“I am very strong,” said the American boy stoutly.
So Adelbert gave up his basket, and the two went up. Four long flights of stone stairs led to Adelbert’s room. The ascent took time and patience.
At the door Adelbert paused. Then, loneliness overcoming prejudice, “Come in,” he said.
The bare little room appealed to the boy. “It’s very nice, it?” he said. “There’s nothing to fall over.”
“And but little to sit on,” old Adelbert added dryly. “However, two people require but two chairs. Here is one.”
But the boy would not sit down. He ranged the room, frankly curious, exclaimed at the pair of ring doves who lived in a box tied to the window-sill, and asked for crumbs for them. Adelbert brought bread from his small store.
The boy cheered him. His interest in the old saber, the intentness with which he listened to its history, the politeness with which he ignored his host’s infirmity, all won the old man’s heart.