"Yes, and he is fond of animals also—dogs and cats and rabbits and squirrels, especially squirrels."
"Squirrels?"
"He has a grey one in a cage on the roof now. But he is not like some people who love animals—he loves children, too. He loves all children, and as for Joseph...."
"The little boy who cried 'Uncle David' at the door?"
"Yes, sir. One day my husband said 'Uncle David' to Mr. Rossi, and he has been Uncle David to my little Joseph ever since."
"This is the dining-room, no doubt," said the stranger.
"Unfortunately, yes, sir."
"Why unfortunately?"
"Because here is the hall, and here is the table, and there's not even a curtain between, and the moment the door is opened he is exposed to everybody. People know it, too, and they take advantage. He would give the chicken off his plate if he hadn't anything else. I have to scold him a little sometimes—I can't help it. And as for father, he says he has doubled his days in purgatory by the lies he tells, turning people away."
"That will be his bedroom, I suppose," said the stranger, indicating a door which the boy had passed through.