The boy who had been the subject of their conversation was slowly becoming used to novel surroundings and the influence they exerted.  Ann talked to him at times of his mother, but he had the disinclination to speak of the dead which most children have, and had in some ways been kept so much of a child as to astonish his aunt.  Neither Leila nor any one could have failed to like him and his gentle ways, and as between him and the village boys she knew Leila preferred this clever, if too timid, cousin.  So far they had had no serious quarrels.  When she rode with the Squire, John wandered in the woods, enjoying solitude, and having some appreciative relation to nature, the great pine woods, the strange noises of the breaking ice in the river, the sunset skies.

Among the village boys with whom at the rector’s small school and in the village John was thrown, he liked least the lad McGregor, who had now been invited to coast or skate with the Grey Pine cousins.  Tom had the democratic boy-belief that very refined manners imply lack of some other far more practical qualities, and thus to him and the Westways boys John Penhallow was simply an absurd Miss Nancy kind of lad, and it was long after the elders of the little town admired and liked him that the boys learned to respect him.  It was easy to see why the generous, good-tempered and pleasant lad failed to satisfy the town boys.  John had been sedulously educated into the belief that he was of a class to which these fellows did not belong, and of this the Squire had soon some suspicion when, obedient as always, John accepted his uncle’s choice of his friend the doctor’s son as a playmate.

He was having his hair cut when Tom McGregor came into the shop of Josiah, the barber.  “Wait a minute,” said John.  “Are you through, Mr. Josiah?”

Tom grinned, “Got a handle to your name?”

“Yes, because Master John is a gentleman.”

“Then I’ll call you Mister too.”

“It won’t ever make you Mister,” said the barber, “that kind’s born so.”

John disliked this outspoken expression of an opinion he shared.  “Nonsense,” he said.  “Come up, Tom, this afternoon.  Don’t forget the muskrat traps, Mr. Josiah.”

“No, sir.  Too early yet.”

“All right,” returned Tom.  “I’ll come.”

March had come and the last snow still lay on the land when thus invited
Tom joined John and Leila in the stable-yard.  “Let’s play tag,” cried
Leila.  Tom was ready.

“Here’s a stick.”  They took hold of it in turn.  Tom’s hand came out on top.  “I’m tagger.  Look out!” he cried.

They played the game.  At last he caught Leila, and crying out, “You’re tagged,” seized her boy-cap and threw it up on to the steep slope of the stable roof.

“Oh! that’s not fair,” cried the girl.  “You are a rude boy.  Now you’ve got to get it.”

“No, indeed.  Get the stable-man to get it.”

She turned to John, “Please to get it.”