“Well, Ann?” he queried.

“A very nice lad, with such good manners, James.”

“Billy found his cap,” said Leila, “but he couldn’t get the sleigh set up until the stable men came.”

“And that cane,” laughed Penhallow.  “Was the boy amused or—­or scared?”

“I don’t know,” which was hardly true, but the chivalry of childhood forbade tale-telling and he learned very little.  “He was rather tired and cold, so I made him go to his room and rest.”

“Poor child!” said Aunt Ann.

James Penhallow looked at Leila.  Some manner of signals were interchanged.  “I saw Billy digging in the big drift,” he said.  “I trust he found the young gentleman’s cane.”  Some pitying, dim comprehension of the delicately nurtured lad had brought to the social surface the kindliness of the girl and she said no more.

“It is time to dress for dinner,” said Ann.  Away from the usages of the city she had wisely insisted on keeping up the social forms which the Squire would at times have been glad to disregard.  For a moment Ann Penhallow lingered.  “We must try to make him feel at home, James.”

“Of course, my dear.  I can imagine how Susan Penhallow would have educated a boy, and now I know quite too well what we shall have to undo—­and—­do.”

“You won’t, oh! you will not be too hard on him.”

“I—­no, my dear—­but—­I suspect his American education has begun already.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ask Leila—­and Billy.  But that can wait.”  They separated.

While his elders were thus briefly discussing this new addition to the responsibilities of their busy lives, the subject of their talk had been warmed into comfortable repossession of his self-esteem.  He set in order his elaborate silver toilet things marked with the Penhallow crest, saw in the glass that his dress and unboylike length of curly hair were as he had been taught they should be; then he looked at his watch and went slowly downstairs.

“Halloa!  John,” he heard as he reached the last turn of the stairs.  “Most glad to see you.  You are very welcome to your new home.”  The man who hailed him was six feet two inches, deep-chested, erect—­the West Point figure; the face clean-shaven, ruddy, hazel-eyed, was radiant with the honest feeling of desire to put this childlike boy at ease.

The little gentleman needed no aid and replied, “My dear uncle, I cannot sufficiently thank you.”  A little bow went with his words, and he placidly accepted his aunt’s embrace, while the hearty Miss Leila looked on in silence.  The boy’s black suit, the short jacket, the neat black tie, made the paleness of his thin large-featured face too obvious.  Then Leila took note of the court shoes and silk socks, and looked at Uncle Jim to see what he thought.  The Squire reserved what criticism he may have had and asked cheerfully about the journey, Aunt Ann aiding him with eager will to make the boy