"We are not strangers, darling," ran the letter; "even as I write, though I have never seen you, I can see your fair curly hair—Peter's hair—and your dear blue eyes—Peter's eyes. When I think that I am going actually to see you two darlings, whom I feel I know so well, I can hardly believe my happiness. A kiss to you and darling Peter."
As he had raised his anguished eyes from this letter, he had met the strange scowling face of a boy just outside his window. A gleam of hope came into his heart. The situation might yet be saved. He might yet escape being held up to the scorn and ridicule of the readers of "The Monthly Signal: A Magazine for Women." Looking again at the face of the boy, he had distinct misgivings, but he decided to try....
William remained at the front-door till the tall, angular figure reached it. Then they stared at each other. William had a gift for staring. People who tried to stare him out soon realised their inferiority in the art.
"Good morning, little boy," said the visitor.
"Umph," replied William.
He was determined to earn that tricycle and pond and wood and birds'-nests and ten-shillings, and he felt that the less he committed himself to any definite statements outside his rôle the better.
"What's your name, dear?"
William inspected her. She looked harmless enough. She had a weak, good-natured face and greying hair and kind short-sighted eyes behind spectacles. She ought to be easy to make a mug of, thought William, out of the vast store of his knowledge of human nature.
"Peter," he said.
The disappointment upon the good-natured face made William feel slightly annoyed.