Carl followed them into the house, and was cordially received by Mr. and Mrs. Vance, who were very kind and hospitable, and were favorably impressed by the gentlemanly appearance of their son’s friend.

Half an hour later dinner was announced, and Carl, having removed the stains of travel in his schoolmate’s room, descended to the dining-room, and, it must be confessed, did ample justice to the bounteous repast spread before him.

In the afternoon Julia, Gilbert and he played tennis, and had a trial at archery.  The hours glided away very rapidly, and six o’clock came before they were aware.

“Gilbert,” said Carl, as they were preparing for tea, “you have a charming home.”

“You have a nice house, too, Carl.”

“True; but it isn’t a home—­to me.  There is no love there.”

“That makes a great difference.”

“If I had a father and mother like yours I should be happy.”

“You must stay here till day after tomorrow, and I will devote to-morrow to a visit in your interest to your home.  I will beard the lion in his den—­that is, your stepmother.  Do you consent?”

“Yes, I consent; but it won’t do any good.”

“We will see.”

CHAPTER III.

Introduces Peter cook.

Gilbert took the morning train to the town of Edgewood Center, the residence of the Crawfords.  He had been there before, and knew that Carl’s home was nearly a mile distant from the station.  Though there was a hack in waiting, he preferred to walk, as it would give him a chance to think over what he proposed to say to Dr. Crawford in Carl’s behalf.

He was within a quarter of a mile of his destination when his attention was drawn to a boy of about his own age, who was amusing himself and a smaller companion by firing stones at a cat that had taken refuge in a tree.  Just as Gilbert came up, a stone took effect, and the poor cat moaned in affright, but did not dare to come down from her perch, as this would put her in the power of her assailant.

“That must be Carl’s stepbrother, Peter,” Gilbert decided, as he noted the boy’s mean face and turn-up nose.  “Stoning cats seems to be his idea of amusement.  I shall take the liberty of interfering.”

Peter Cook laughed heartily at his successful aim.

“I hit her, Simon,” he said.  “Doesn’t she look seared?”

“You must have hurt her.”

“I expect I did.  I’ll take a bigger stone next time.”

He suited the action to the word, and picked up a rock which, should it hit the poor cat, would in all probability kill her, and prepared to fire.

“Put down that rock!” said Gilbert, indignantly.

Peter turned quickly, and eyed Gilbert insolently.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“No matter who I am.  Put down that rock!”

“What business is it of yours?”