For the next few days little was talked of by the children except the arrival of the expected visitors.
“It’s almost like having a book person come to stay with us,” said Molly. “We’ve heard so much about Paul, but we didn’t think we should ever really know him. Of course he’ll like Dulcie, she’s so clever, but I don’t suppose he’ll care very much about the rest of us.”
“He ought to like Daisy,” said Maud, “because they’re both ten and a half. Don’t people generally like each other when they’re just the same age?”
“I don’t know,” said Molly, “but we’ll find out pretty soon, and, oh, isn’t it exciting?”
“A very learned boy is coming to stay with us,” Molly—who was fond of using fine words—told Miss Hammond, the daily governess. “He speaks French and German, and learned the multiplication table all by himself when he was only five. He could read the Bible perfectly before he was seven.”
Molly expected Miss Hammond to be much impressed, and was somewhat crestfallen when the only answer she received was the not very comforting remark that it was a pity some little girls didn’t know their tables better.
It was Friday when Mrs. Chester’s letter came, and on the following Wednesday the visitors arrived. The four children were watching from the parlor window, and as the cab drew up, there was a simultaneous rush for the front door. Grandma and Aunt Kate had gone to the station to meet the travellers, and as the party came up the steps, all eyes were fixed eagerly upon Paul. He was a tall, pale boy, with a rather discontented expression, and a shock of reddish brown hair. He was not a handsome boy, which was something of a shock, as his mother’s descriptions had led them to expect a sort of young Adonis, but he shook hands politely, and murmured a few rather unintelligible words, in answer to Dulcie’s eager assurances of how delighted they all were to see him. Mrs. Chester, a pale, languid lady, who talked a great deal about her health, greeted the little girls kindly, and then they all went up-stairs together.
“May Paul come to the nursery with us?” Molly inquired, as they reached the guest-room door.
“Not now,” Paul’s mother answered. “He is tired from his journey, and must take a little rest before dinner.”
“I don’t want to rest; I’m not tired,” protested Paul, in such a fretful tone that the children regarded him in astonishment. “I want to go with them.”