“‘Under this tree Washington took command—’”
But Phillip had already left him and was reading the inscription on the stone tablet with devoted eyes. Then he looked upward at the once sturdy monarch and about him as though impressing the scene upon his memory.
“I want to write Margey about it,” he explained as John joined him.
“I see.” John’s eyes followed Phillip’s, and the scene, to his surprise, took on new values. He began to wonder how, if he were going to write Margey, he would describe it. Really, it was an interesting old stump when you came to think about it. He wondered if Phillip would tell his sister of the walk they had taken and whether his name would be mentioned; and if it was, what sort of a person Margey would imagine him to be. He recalled the features in the photograph on Phil’s mantel and hoped that that youngster’s account of him would be the least bit flattering.
It was almost five when they reached the church opposite the college and John turned to Phillip with:
“I say, come on over to my room and meet Davy. He’s probably asleep, but we can wake him up. And then I’ll take you to dinner and you can see how you like the place.”
That programme was duly followed—even to the merciless waking of David—and Phillip only parted from his new friends when a clock in a nearby tower tolled nine. Then he walked through Boylston Street to his room feeling very happy, Maid, now a quiet and sedate old lady, following close at his heels.