“He can’t swim.  I got that out of Leila.  I understand he tried it once and gave it up.”

“But his mother made him, James.  You know Susan.  She was as timid as a house-fly for herself, and I suppose for him.”

“I asked him,” said Rivers, “if he knew any Latin.  He answered me in Latin and told me that at Budapest where he was long at school the boys had to speak Latin.”

“And the rest, Rivers.  Is he well up in mathematics?”

“No, he finds that difficult.  But, upon my word, Squire, he is the most doggedly persistent fellow I have ever had to teach and I handled many boys when I was younger.  I can take care of my side of the boy.”

“He can skate, James,” said Mrs. Ann.

“Yes, so I hear.  I suppose that under Leila’s care and a good out-of-door life he will drop his girl-ways—­but—­”

“But what, James?”

“Oh! he has been taught that there is no shame in failure, no disgrace in being afraid.”

“How do you know he is afraid, my dear James?”

“Oh!  I know.”  Leila’s unwillingness to talk had given him some suspicion of the truth.  “Well, we shall see.  He needs some rough boy-company.  I don’t like to have the village boys alone with Leila, but when she has John with her it may be as well to ask Dr. McGregor’s son Tom to coast and play with them.”

“He has no manners,” said Mrs. Penhallow.

“Then he may get some from John.  He never will from Leila.  I will take care of the rest, Rivers.  He has got to learn to ride.”

“You won’t be too hard on him, James?” said his wife.

“Not unless he needs it.  Let us drop him.”

“Have you seen yesterday’s papers?” asked Rivers.  “Our politics, North and South, look to me stormy.”

Penhallow shook his head at the tall rector.  The angry strife of sections and parties was the one matter he never discussed with Ann Penhallow.  The rector recalled it as he saw Mrs. Ann sit up and drop on her lap the garment upon which her ever industrious hands were busy.  Accepting Penhallow’s hint, Rivers said quickly, “But really there is nothing new,” and then, “Tom McGregor will certainly be the better for our little gentleman’s good manners, and he too has something to learn of Tom.”

“I should say he has,” said Penhallow.

“A little dose of West Point, I suppose,” laughed Mrs. Ann.  “It is my husband’s one ideal of education.”

“It must once, I fancy, have satisfied Ann Grey,” retorted the Squire smiling.

“I reserve any later opinion of James Penhallow,” she said laughing, and gathering up her sewing bag left them, declaring that now they might smoke.  The two men rose, and when alone began at once to talk of the coming election in the fall of 1856 and the endless troubles arising out of the Fugitive Slave Act.