"Right, my lad!" exclaimed Doctor Jim, much mollified by this attitude. "That's my old friend Richard's son speaking now. And I doubt not that our little mistress here will see to it that the invitation is forthcoming in good season,—eh, what?"
There was a doubtful expression on Barbara's face, over the lack of instantaneous obedience to her will on the part of her champion; but Robert, encouraged by Doctor Jim's commendation, now made a bold proposal.
"If you would be so kind, sir," he suggested, diffidently, "I should like to go down with you to the Landing, where I can lodge very well for the night at the house of an old servant of my grandmother's. It will be a long and difficult tramp for me up the shore now, in the dark, and with no road through the woods. By going with you to the Landing I might be of some service, to paddle the canoe. She will be an awkward craft to tow; and Mistress Barbara is very tired, I perceive."
"Sly young dog!" growled Doctor John. "But, seeing that he is Richard's son, we'll have to take him along with us as far as the Landing, eh, Jim?"
"Let him work his passage, then!" roared Doctor Jim. "Let him paddle the canoe, and Barbara, and her kittens, and all her contraptions,—and we'll see about not being too hard on him when we come to tell his grandmother!"
This arrangement was highly satisfactory to all concerned. The gloom fell from Robert's face, and his mouth grew boyish and happy as he paddled on in musing silence. He kept the canoe alongside of the boat, just out of reach of the oars, so that Barbara could talk conveniently with Doctor John and Doctor Jim, which she did in the most usual manner in the world, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But presently, upon a lull in the conversation came the voice of Robert, who had been thinking about Barbara's life at Second Westings.
"Is not Mistress Ladd a very harsh, tyrannical sort of woman?" he inquired, solicitously.
There was a huge roar from Doctor Jim, which made even Barbara jump, inured though she was to these explosions.
"I'd have you remember, young sir, that you are speaking of the gentlest, sweetest, truest, most gracious lady that ever lived, for whose little shoes you are not worthy to sweep the ground!"
Robert stared in confusion, too astonished to be at once ready with an apology. Before he could gather his wits, Doctor John spoke up, more gently. He was no less loyal a champion to Mistress Mehitable than was Doctor Jim, but with him his humour was ever at hand to assuage his wrath. Subduing his great tones to a quizzical and confidential half-whisper, that feigned itself not meant for Barbara's ears, he said, amiably: