"He has no manners," said Mrs. Penhallow.
"Then he may get some from John. He never will from Leila. I will take care of the rest, Rivers. He has got to learn to ride."
"You won't be too hard on him, James?" said his wife.
"Not unless he needs it. Let us drop him."
"Have you seen yesterday's papers?" asked Rivers. "Our politics, North and South, look to me stormy."
Penhallow shook his head at the tall rector. The angry strife of sections and parties was the one matter he never discussed with Ann Penhallow. The rector recalled it as he saw Mrs. Ann sit up and drop on her lap the garment upon which her ever industrious hands were busy. Accepting Penhallow's hint, Rivers said quickly, "But really there is nothing new," and then, "Tom McGregor will certainly be the better for our little gentleman's good manners, and he too has something to learn of Tom."
"I should say he has," said Penhallow.
"A little dose of West Point, I suppose," laughed Mrs. Ann. "It is my husband's one ideal of education."
"It must once, I fancy, have satisfied Ann Grey," retorted the Squire smiling.
"I reserve any later opinion of James Penhallow," she said laughing, and gathering up her sewing bag left them, declaring that now they might smoke. The two men rose, and when alone began at once to talk of the coming election in the fall of 1856 and the endless troubles arising out of the Fugitive Slave Act.