The door behind her was shoved open noisily, admitting Henry who breathed as if he had been running.
“Hyear he is!” he blurted out.
Frederick stopped on the threshold. The room made him hold his breath—sunlight reflected on rich colors and pouring through the singing of a little bird. He wanted to stoop down to see if his shoes carried any tiny speck of sand or dust. He must step softly on the beautiful floor.
“Come in, boy!”
The man’s voice was kind. Mrs. Freeland turned with a jerk and stared keenly at the new acquisition. She noted at once his color, or lack of color. That meant—the thought was rigorously checked. Who was this boy her son had picked up in St. Michaels? Why this sudden interest in buying the half-grown buck? She spoke brusquely.
“Come here!”
He drew near, walking quietly but firmly, and bowed. Under her merciless scrutiny he neither shuffled his feet nor lowered his eyes. It was the master who broke the silence.
“Well, Mother—”
She waved him to silence with a peremptory gesture.
“Do you have a name?” she questioned.