Our little shoemaker did as he was desired, and an elderly serving-woman almost immediately answered the summons.
"Is Mrs. Stewart at home, Katie?" asked the gentleman, dipping his pen in the ink in order to resume his writing.
"No, sir; she has gone up to your son's. One of the children is sick, and she said it was likely she would have to stay all night," was the reply.
"I think, boy, your best plan will be to go there with the shoes," said the professor; "it is not far: just keep on up this street until you find yourself almost to the country; you will there see a house built in cottage style, standing back from the street in an enclosure: my son, Mr. Stewart, lives there; ask for Mrs. Stewart and tell her of the shoes; she will decide whether or not to keep them."
He turned once more to his writing and William was obliged to depart. Although the day was dark and gloomy, he was too glad to have an excuse for extending his walk; and caring neither for the cold wind that rushed by at intervals, and sent the few leaves that until now had clung to the lindens whirling in the air, nor that the short day was approaching to its close, he walked on rapidly, and was soon at the point of destination.
The description of the house had been too accurately given for its features to be mistaken; plain but elegant, its exterior bespoke the pure taste of its possessors.
There were several steps leading up to the entrance door, which, retreating into a kind of recess, occupied the middle of the building, and opened into a hall with parlours on each side.
William ascended the steps and rung the bell. More than one summons was necessary, and while he waited for somebody to come he had time to look round; and he did gaze into one of the basement rooms, in which were several children. It seemed to be used partly for school purposes, and partly for play; it was not certainly the regular study hours, for there was too much inattention, although a governess was present and giving directions. A girl of twelve years old was practising a music lesson; and a younger one, seated at a table, was writing—all three of the inmates too much occupied to observe the young intruder, who was now so near the window that he could hear part of what was said.
"You play too fast, Clara," said the teacher; "if you do not count your time, you will never excel in music."
"Agnes, do not sit so crooked at your writing; it is ruinous to your health. Be careful to spell every word properly; for those who do not learn to spell well while they are young, can never acquire a correct knowledge of it."