“Tell me what you think about it, Norah—­quite candidly.”

Norah had hesitated about replying; but she now said that she really thought Dale need not be in a hurry.  Billy was so clever that when he did get to school he would learn faster than other boys; and she added that his departure from home would be “a dreadful wrinch for Mrs. Dale.”

“But it will be a wrench for her whenever it happens.  In life one has to prepare one’s self for wrenches—­That, I fancy, is the better way of pronouncing the word.  Yes, wrench after wrench, Norah—­that’s life; until the last great wrench comes—­and, well, that isn’t life....  Who was that passed the window?”

Norah turned her bright young face to the window and peered out.

“It’s Mr. Bates, sir.  How funny he looks!”

“What d’you mean—­funny?”

“Walking so slow, and leaning on his great stick—­as if he was a pilgrim.”

Dale had jumped off his stool; and he ran out to the road and begged the old man to come in.

“Certainly, William,” said Mr. Bates.

He had cut himself a long staff from some woodland holly-tree, a rough prop that reached shoulder high, and on this he leaned heavily as soon as he stopped walking.  He looked very old and very shaky.

“Good evening, Miss Veale,” he said courteously as he entered the office.

“Oh, you mustn’t call her Miss Veale.  She’s Norah—­one of us, you know.”  And as he spoke, Dale laid his hand on the back of Norah’s neck to prevent her from rising.  “She’s our multum in parvo—­making herself so useful to the wife and me that we can’t think what we should ever do without her.  Bide where you are a moment, Norah.”

Dale established his visitor on a chair that faced the rapidly waning light, and addressed him again with increased deference.

“If you can spare a few minutes, there’s a thing I’d like to speak to you about, Mr. Bates.”

“I can spare all the minutes between now and morning,” said Mr. Bates cordially, “if I can be of the least service to you, William.”

As much now as in the beginning of the enterprise Bates held himself at the younger man’s disposal, indeed liked nothing better than to give information and counsel whenever his prosperous successor was of a mind to accept either.

“I won’t keep you as long as that,” said Dale, smiling; “but will you give us the pleasure of your company at supper?”

“You’re very kind, William, but I don’t think I can.”

“Do, Mr. Bates.  The wife will be as pleased as me—­as I.”

The old fellow looked up at Dale hesitatingly; and Dale, looking down at his clean-shaven cheeks, bushy white eyebrows, and the long wisps of white hair brushed across his bald head, felt a great reverence.  He would not look at the threadbare shabbiness of the gray cloth suit, or at the queer tints given by time and weather to the black felt hat that was being balanced on two shrunken knees.