But presently Mrs. Polgrean’s shop-window was passed.
“Oh, stop! stop!” cried Jamie. “We have gone by the sweetie shop.”
“Of course we have,” answered Scantlebray, senior. “I daren’t trust that brother of mine in there; he has such a terrible sweet tooth. Besides, I want you to see the pig eating out of the trough. It will kill you. If it don’t I’ll give you another shilling.”
Presently he drew up at the door of a stiff, square-built house, with a rambling wing thrown out on one side. It was stuccoed and painted drab—drab walls, drab windows, and drab door.
“Now, then, young man,” said Scantlebray, cheerily, “I’ll unbuckle the strap and let you out. You come in with me. This is my brother’s mansion, roomy, pleasant, and comprehensive. You shall have a dish of tea.”
“And then I may go home?”
“And then—we shall see; shan’t we, Obadiah, old man?”
They entered the hall, and the door was shut and fastened behind them; then into a somewhat dreary room, with red flock paper on the walls, no pictures, leather-covered, old, mahogany chairs, and a book or two on the table—one of these a Bible.
Jamie looked wonderingly about him, a little disposed to cry. He was a long way from Polzeath, and Judith would be waiting for him and anxious, and the place into which he was ushered was not cheery, not inviting.
“Now, then,” said Mr. Scantlebray, “young hopeful, give me my shilling.”