"I must see him," said his wife.
"Better let him alone, Ann." But as usual she took her own way and went upstairs. She came down in a few minutes, finding her husband standing before the fire—an erect, soldierly figure close to forty years of age.
"Well, Ann?" he queried.
"A very nice lad, with such good manners, James."
"Billy found his cap," said Leila, "but he couldn't get the sleigh set up until the stable men came."
"And that cane," laughed Penhallow. "Was the boy amused or—or scared?"
"I don't know," which was hardly true, but the chivalry of childhood forbade tale-telling and he learned very little. "He was rather tired and cold, so I made him go to his room and rest."
"Poor child!" said Aunt Ann.
James Penhallow looked at Leila. Some manner of signals were interchanged. "I saw Billy digging in the big drift," he said. "I trust he found the young gentleman's cane." Some pitying, dim comprehension of the delicately nurtured lad had brought to the social surface the kindliness of the girl and she said no more.
"It is time to dress for dinner," said Ann. Away from the usages of the
city she had wisely insisted on keeping up the social forms which the
Squire would at times have been glad to disregard. For a moment Ann
Penhallow lingered. "We must try to make him feel at home, James."