The word of kindly approach was timely.  John felt the invitation as a compliment, and was singularly open to the approval his lessons won from this gentle dark-eyed man.  “Oh!” he said, “I should like that.”

After lunch, Leila, a little penitent, said with unwonted shyness, “The woods are very nice to-day, and I found the first arbutus under the snow.”

When John did not respond, she made a further propitiatory advance, “It will soon be time for that hornets’ nest, we must go and see.”

“What are you about?” said Mrs. Ann; “you will get stung.”

“Pursuit of natural history,” said Penhallow smiling.

“You are as bad as Leila, James.”

“Won’t you come?” asked the girl at last.

“Thank you.  I regret that I have an engagement with Mr. Rivers,” said John, with the prim manner he was fast losing.

“By George!” murmured Penhallow as he rose.

John looked up puzzled, and his uncle, much amused, went to get his boots and riding-dress.  “Wait till I get you on a horse, my Lord Chesterfield,” he muttered.  “He and Leila must have had a row.  What about, I wonder.”  He asked no questions.

With a renewal of contentment and well-pleased, John called for the rector.  They went away into the forest to the cabin.

“And so,” said Rivers, “this is where the first Penhallow had his Indian fight.  I must ask the Squire.”

“I know about it,” said John.  “Leila told me, and”—­he paused, “I saw it.”

“Oh! did you?  Let’s hear.”  They lay down, and the rector lazily smoked.  “Well, go ahead, Jack, I like stories.”  He had early rechristened him Jack, and the boy liked it.

“Well, sir, they saw them coming near to dusk and ran.  You see, it was a clearing then; the trees have grown here since.  That was at dusk.  They barred the door and cut loop-holes between the logs.  Next morning the Indians came on.  She fired first, and she cried out, ’Oh!  James, I’ve killed a man.’”

“She said that?” asked Rivers.

“Yes, and she wouldn’t shoot again until her man was wounded, then she was like a raging lioness.”

“A lioness!” echoed Rivers.

“By evening, help came.”

“How did you know all this?”

“Oh!  Leila told me some—­and the rest—­well, sir, I saw it.  I’ve been here often.”

The rector studied the excited young face.  “Would you like to have been there, Jack?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I should have been afraid, and—­” Then quickly, “I suppose he was; she was; any one would have been.”

“Like as not.  He for her, most of all.  But there are many kinds of fear, Jack.”

John was silent, and the rector waited.  Then the boy broke out, “Leila told me last week I was a coward.”

“Indeed!  Leila told you that!  That wasn’t like her, Jack.  Why did she say it?”

This was a friendly hearer, whose question John had invited.  To-day the human relief of confession was great to the boy.  He told the story, in bits, carefully, as if to have it exact were essential.  Mark Rivers watched him through his pipe smoke, trying to think of what he could or should say to this small soul in trouble.  The boy was lying on the floor looking up, his hands clasped behind his head.  “That’s all, sir.  It’s dreadful.”