She opened the door and called to Lucy to run to the barn for her uncle.

“Yes, Aunt Hepsy,” answered Lucy, her sweet, clear tones contrasting strongly with her aunt’s unpleasant voice.

“Miss Goldthwaite’s all right again, eh?” she asked, sitting down near the door.

“I am thankful to say my sister is none the worse of her adventure,” answered Mr. Goldthwaite.  “But for Tom’s bravery the consequences might have been more serious.”

“H’m, I told him it would be a precious long time afore he got on the ice again to be laid up, botherin’ strange folks, an’ I guess I’ll keep my word.”

“You must not be so hard on him, Miss Strong,” said the minister.  “He is a very fine lad, and tries very hard to please you, I know.”

Aunt Hepsy remained silent.

“What a pretty place you have, Miss Strong,” said Mr. Keane’s pleasant, well-modulated voice.  “The Peak shows splendidly from this window.”

“The place aren’t no great thing, sir,” said Miss Hepsy.—­“Here’s Josh.”  She opened the door, and Uncle Josh appeared on the threshold in his working garb, grimy and dust-stained, as he had come from repairing the mill.  He pulled his hair to the minister, and bowed awkwardly to Mr. Keane.

“Sit down, Josh,” said Miss Hepsy, but Josh preferred to stand.  There was just a moment’s constrained silence.

“I have called to see you, Mr. Strong,” said Robert Keane, plunging into the subject without further delay, “about your nephew Tom.  He is very anxious to become a painter, I find.  Would you have any objections to me putting him in the way of life to which his desire and talent point him?”

“Has the ungrateful little brat been carrying his grumbling among you folks?” said Miss Hepsy wrathfully.

“Be quiet, Hepsy,” said Joshua Strong very imperatively.

“I don’t quite understand you, sir,” he said to Mr. Keane.  “I can’t afford to send the boy anywhere to learn anything, if ye mean that.  He’ll never do no good on a farm, for sartin; but he kin work for his livin’ here, an’ that’s all I kin do for ’im.”

“I am a painter myself,” said Mr. Keane, guessing they were unaware of the fact, and now wishing to state his intentions as briefly and plainly as possible; “and from what I have seen of your nephew I believe his talent for art to be very great indeed.  What I mean is this:  give him up to me; I will take him back to Philadelphia, and take entire care of his training.  It will not cost you a farthing, Mr. Strong.  Do you understand?”

“We’re poor folks, but we don’t take charity even for Hetty’s children,” said Miss Hepsy pointedly.  “We’ve never been offered it afore.”

Mr. Keane might have waxed angry at the impertinent remark.  He was only inwardly amused.  “It is not charity, Miss Strong,” he said good-humouredly.  “I expect Tom will be able to repay anything he may cost me.  I hope you will not stand in the lad’s way.  He is a born artist, and will never do good in any other sphere.—­Come, Mr. Strong, say yes, and let us shake hands over the bargain.”