"This is Westways, our village. It is just a row of houses. Uncle James won't sell land on our side. Look out, Billy! Our rector lives in that small house by the church. His name is Mark Rivers. You'll like him. That's Mr. Grace, the Baptist preacher." She bade him good-day. "Stop, Billy!"
He pulled up at the sidewalk. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Crocker," she said, as the postmistress came out to the sleigh. "Please mail this. Any letters for us?"
"No, Leila." She glanced at the curly locks above the thin face and the wrapped up form in the shawl. "Got a nice little girl with you, Leila."
John indignant said nothing. "This is a boy—my cousin, John Penhallow," returned Leila.
"Law! is that so?"
"Get on," cried Leila. "Stop at Josiah's."
Here a tall, strongly built, very black negro came out. "Fine frosty day, missy."
"Come up to the house to-night. Uncle Jim wants you."
"I'll come—sure."
"Now, get along, Billy."