“Are little boats alive?
And can they plan and feel?”
“A.”
“If you please, there’s a boy at the kitchen-door asking for the young ladies,” said the young maid-servant Ulrica, who generally waited on Ruby and Mavis.
They were just finishing their morning lessons with Miss Hortensia, and Mavis was putting away the books, a task which usually fell to her share.
Miss Hortensia gave a little start.
“A boy,” she exclaimed, “what kind of a boy? It can’t be—oh no of course not. How foolish I am. At the kitchen-door, did you say, Ulrica? Who is it?”
“Oh, I know!” cried Ruby, jumping up with a clatter, delighted to avoid finding out the mistake in a sum which Miss Hortensia had told her she must correct. “It’s Winfried; I’m sure it is. He’s come for some soup or something. I told him he might, but I do think it’s rather greedy to have come the very next day. Mayn’t I go and speak to him, cousin?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so. No, I think it would be better for him to come in here. Show the boy in here, Ulrica—at least—ask him if he is old Adam’s grandson.”
In a minute or two the door was again opened.
“If you please, ma’am,” said Ulrica’s voice as before, “it’s—it’s the boy.”
“The boy” walked in; he held his cap in his hand, and made a sort of graceful though simple obeisance to the ladies. He did not seem the least shy, yet neither was there a touch of boldness about him. On his face was the slight but pleasant smile that had more than once lighted it up the day before, and his eyes, as he stood there full in the bright gleam of the window—for it was a clear and sunny day—were very blue.