The boy stood still in wonder.  Something about the tree disturbed him emotionally.  With hands clasped behind his back, he stared up at its towering heights.  He was silent.

“What’s the matter?  What do you see?” She was never long silent.  He was searching for a word.

“It’s solemn.  I like it.”  He moved forward and patted the huge hole with a feeling of reverence and affection.  “I wish he could speak to us.  How are you, old fellow?”

Leila watched him.  As yet she had no least comprehension of this sense of being kindred to nature.  It is rare in youth.  As he spoke, a little breeze stirred the old fellow’s topmost crest and a light downfall of snow fell on the pair.  Leila laughed, but the boy cried, “There! he has answered.  We are friends.”

“Now, if that isn’t Uncle Jim all over.  He just does make me laugh.”

John shook off the snow.  “Let’s go home,” he said.  He Was warm and red with the exercise, and in high good-humour over his success.  “Did you never read a poem called ‘The Talking Oak’?  I had a tutor used to read it to me.”

“Now, the idea of a tree talking!” she said.  “No, I never heard of it.  Come along, we’ll be late.  That’s funny about a tree talking.  Can you run?”

They ran, but not far, because deep snow makes running hard.  It was after dark when they tramped on to the back porch.  John’s experience taught him to expect blame for being out late.  No one asked a question or made a remark.  He was ignored, to his amazement.  Whether, as he soon learned, he was in or out, wet or dry, seemed to be of no moment to any one, provided he was punctual at meal-times.  It was at first hard to realize the reasonable freedom suddenly in his possession.  The appearance of complete want of interest in his health and what he did was as useful a moral tonic as was for the body the educational out-of-doors’ society of the fearless girl, his aunt’s niece whom he was told to consider as his cousin.  To his surprise, he was free to come and go, and what he or Leila did in the woods or in the stables no one inquired.  Aunt Ann uneasy would have known all about them, but the Squire urged, that for a time, “let alone” was the better policy.  This freedom was so unusual, so unreservedly complete, as to rejoice Leila, who was very ready to use the liberty it gave.  In a week the rector’s school would shut them up for half of the day of sunlit snow.  Meanwhile, John wondered with interest every morning where next those thin active young legs would lead him.

The dogs he soon took to, when Leila’s whistle called them,—­a wild troop, never allowed beyond the porch or in the house.  For some occult reason Mrs. Ann disliked dogs and liked cats, which roamed the house at will and were at deadly feud with the stable canines.  No rough weather ever disturbed Leila’s out-of-door habits, but when for two days a lazy rain fell and froze on the snow, John declared that he could not venture to get wet with his tendency to tonsilitis.  As Leila refused indoor society and he did not like to be left alone, he missed the gay and gallant little lady, and still no one questioned him.  On the third day at breakfast Leila was wildly excited.  The smooth ice-mailed snow shone brilliant in the sunshine.