“Don’t you want to take my rod and fish a while, sir?” he said, feeling that it would be impossible for him to longer sit still.
“Thank you; you are very kind. I might take a single flyer.”
Mr. Darley stepped around to take Miles’s seat, but as the other rose they were face to face, and very close to each other for an instant. Mr. Darley put out both hands and grasped the boy by the shoulders.
“What is your name?” he said in a tone that was quite different from the one in which he had hitherto spoken. It was much more decided, and firmer.
“Miles,” answered the other, trying his best to keep his excitement down.
He could see Mrs. Fox standing just behind his father, her hands clasped together in an agony of suspense.
“Miles, eh! Well, you look as if your name ought to be Maurice. Great Cæsar! doesn’t he look like me, Mrs. Fox?”
He wheeled around so suddenly that the poor old lady was taken quite unawares. She dropped her hands quickly to her sides and had not a word to say.
“Don’t he look like me?” Mr. Darley now appealed to Sydney, who managed to stammer out: “I certainly see a strong resemblance, sir.”
“What is your last name, young man?” went on the other.