He said, "I
am very greatly obliged for the skates. They appear to me excellent."
"What a confoundedly civil young gentleman," thought Penhallow. "I have
been thinking you must learn to skate. The pond has been swept clear of
snow."
"Thank you," returned the boy, with a grin which his uncle thought odd.
"Leila will teach you."
John was silent, regarding his uncle with never dying interest, the
soldier of Indian battles, the perfect rider and good shot, adored in the
stables and loved, as John was learning, in all the country side. John
was in the grip of a boy's admiration for a realized ideal--the worship,
by the timid, of courage. Of the few things he did well, he thought
little; and an invalid's fears had discouraged rough games until he had
become like a timorous girl. He had much dread of horses, and was
alarmingly sure that he would some day be made to ride. Once in Paris he
had tried, had had a harmless accident and, willingly yielding to his
mother's fears, had tried no more.
Late in the afternoon, Leila, with her long wake of flying hair, burst
into the Squire's den. "What the deuce is the matter?" asked
Penhallow.
"Oh! Uncle Jim, he can skate like--like a witch. I couldn't keep near
him. He skated an 'L' for my name. Uncle Jim, he's a fraud.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52