“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Roberta warmly.  “I always liked Hugh Benson.  Mr. Westcott told me some time ago that he was afraid Hugh wasn’t succeeding.”

“The store’s been closed to the public a fortnight now,” explained Uncle Rufus over his shoulder.  “Hugh hasn’t failed yet, and something’s going on there; nobody seems to know just what.  Inventory, maybe, or getting ready for a bankrupt sale.  The Benson sign’s still up just as it was before Hugh’s father died.  Windows covered with white soap or whitewash.  Some say the store’s going to open up under new parties—­guess nobody knows exactly.  Hullo! who’s that making signs?”

He indicated a tall figure on the sidewalk coming toward them at a rapid rate, face alight, hat waving in air.

“It’s Mr. Forbes Westcott,” exulted Ruth, twisting around to look at her sister.  “Funny how he always happens to be visiting his father and mother just as Rob is visiting you, isn’t it, Aunt Ruth?”

Uncle Rufus drew up to the sidewalk, and the whole party shook hands with a tall man of dark, keen features, who bore an unmistakable air of having come from a larger world than that of the town of Eastman.

“Mrs. Gray—­Miss Roberta—­Miss Ruth—­Mr. Gray—­why, this is delightful.  When did you come?  How long are you going to stay?  It seems a thousand years since I saw you last!”

He was like an eager boy, though he was clearly no boy in years.  He included them all in this greeting, but his eyes were ardently on Roberta as he ended.  Ruth, screwed around upon the front seat and watching interestedly, could hardly blame him.  Roberta, in her furry wrappings, was as vivid as a flower.  Her eyes looked black beneath their dusky lashes, and her cheeks were brilliant with the touch of the winter wind.

“When did you come?  How did you find your father and mother?” inquired Roberta demurely.

“Well and hearty as ever, and apparently glad to see their son—­as he was to see them.  I’ve been devoting myself to them for three days now, and mean to give them the whole week.  It’s only fair—­isn’t it?—­after being away so long.  How fortunate for me that I should meet you; I might not have found it out till I had missed much time.”

“You’ve missed much time already,” put in Uncle Rufus.  “They came last night.”

“Put your hat on, Forbes,” was Aunt Ruth’s admonition as Westcott continued to stand beside Roberta, exchanging question and answer concerning the long interval which had intervened since they last met.  “Come over to supper to-night, and then you young people can talk without danger of catching your death of cold.”

Westcott laughed and accepted, but the hat was not replaced upon his smooth, dark head until the sleigh had gone on.

“Subjects always keep uncovered before their queen,” whispered Ruth in Uncle Rufus’s ear, and he laughed and nodded.

“Times have changed since I was a young man,” said he.  “A fellow would have looked queer in my day unwinding his comforter and pulling off his coonskin cap and standing holding those things while he talked on a February morning.  He’d have gone home and taken some pepper-tea to ward off the effects of the chill!”