"Oh, I came from Laurel Grove, just the other side of Rosewood," replied Preston, as dignified as a boy can be who feels himself crushed to the earth by unmerited contempt. "I got off the cars a few minutes ago, and—and—thought I'd wait for the next train. When does the next train go?"
"Well, it beats me to guess what you got off the cars for!" said this very disrespectful man, setting one foot on the sled and eying Preston all over. "You hadn't ought to get off the cars, sonny, it ain't safe; children get their necks broke that way."
"Can you tell me how far it is to Hilltop?" asked Preston, with an increase of dignity.
"Well, it's a good fifty miles or more, and you can't go till five o'clock this afternoon. You'd better speak to the folks that live in that red house yonder, and ask 'em to see you safe on board the cars, and when you once get on, you stick there! Don't you get off this side of Hilltop. Now mind, little shaver!" And with this very cutting advice and another disrespectful stare, the man toiled on with his sled and the pail of flour.
"I hope he was impolite enough," thought Preston, indignantly. He did not relish being looked down upon. Neither had Flaxie relished it, you remember. "So I can't get to Hilltop till evening. A pretty piece of work! They'll be just rising from the supper-table, Flaxie and all; and won't they have a jolly time laughing at me? They'll ask what I came for at that time of day? Freddy'll call me a caterpillar and a snail, and everything else he can think of. No, sir, you don't catch me going to Hilltop to be laughed at! All I went for in the first place was to take care of Flaxie. No fun in it now. No use, either! Guess I'll go home. But what shall I do with the check and the purse and the key? Oh, Flaxie, I wish I'd let you alone."
While he was lamenting in this strain, he became conscious of a pair of sorrowful eyes raised to his face. They were the eyes of a thin and unhappy-looking but handsome black and white spaniel. It was a tender, respectful gaze; and to a boy who has just felt himself looked down upon, it is consoling to be looked up to, even by a dog.
"Here, Rover, Rover, good fellow! Here, Rover," said he, softly patting the shaggy head.
There was a magical charm for all animals in Preston's touch; and this poor creature crouched before him with a mournful, loving whine, got in front of him as he moved about, sat down at his feet and licked his boots when he stood still, and behaved altogether as if he had found a dear friend.
"I can't think what you mean, Rover. There, that's your name, I know by the way you wag your tail! But, Rover, you never saw me before. What makes you think you know me?"