Observe, she did not address Preston as "sonny," or call him a "shaver." She did not even say "my boy" or "my child" or "my dear," or ask him any embarrassing questions.
He was convinced that she was a perfect lady, and answered briskly,—
"Oh, do bring him a piece of meat, ma'am! You see I can wait, for I'm going to—"
But not knowing whether to say Hilltop or Laurel Grove, he prudently left the sentence unfinished.
The lady hastened to the red house near by, and Preston, still caressing the dog, watched her as she returned with a light step, bearing a plate of meat in her hand. There was something very interesting about her homeliness; he could not help looking at her face, and the more he looked the better he liked it.
"This is nice roast beef, a real Thanksgiving dinner, Rover," said she, with loving good-will. "Do eat it and make me happy."
As if he were grateful, and really anxious to please her, this dog, who had so long refused his food, thrust his nose immediately into the heaped-up plate before him and began to eat. If Preston moved away, however, he stopped, turned about, and followed him uneasily.
"It is very plain that the charm lies in you," said the lady, smiling, as Preston patted Rover's head, and he began to eat again.
It had been dreadful, she said, to see him pining away, and to hear him moaning day and night. Mrs. Danforth, his master's widow, could hardly bear it, and her son, who lived with her, had declared that Rover must be taken out of town and given to a new master or he would surely die of grief.