His name is Mark Rivers. You'll like him.
That's Mr. Grace, the Baptist preacher." She bade him good-day. "Stop,
Billy!"
He pulled up at the sidewalk. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Crocker," she said,
as the postmistress came out to the sleigh. "Please mail this. Any
letters for us?"
"No, Leila." She glanced at the curly locks above the thin face and the
wrapped up form in the shawl. "Got a nice little girl with you, Leila."
John indignant said nothing. "This is a boy--my cousin, John Penhallow,"
returned Leila.
"Law! is that so?"
"Get on," cried Leila. "Stop at Josiah's."
Here a tall, strongly built, very black negro came out. "Fine frosty day,
missy."
"Come up to the house to-night. Uncle Jim wants you."
"I'll come--sure."
"Now, get along, Billy."
The black was strange to the boy. He thought the lower orders here
disrespectful.
"Josiah's our barber," said Leila. "He saved me once from a dreadful
accident. You'll like him."
"Will I?" thought John, but merely remarked, "They all seem rather
intimate."
"Why not?" said the young Republican. "Ah! here's the gate. I'll get out
and open it. It's the best gate to swing on in the whole place."
As she tossed the furs aside, John gasped, "To swing on--"
"Oh, yes. Aunt Ann says I am too old to swing on gates, but I do.
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