For any
one of his children but Madge, reproof would have come from her father
also; in all save where she was concerned, he was a singularly correct
and dignified man, to the point of stiffness and austerity. His wife,
a pretty, vain, inoffensive woman, was always chiding her children for
their smaller faults, and never seeing the traits that might lead to
graver ones.
Mr. and Mrs. Faringfield awaited the effect of Madge's invitation, or
rather command, adding nothing to it. The boy's colour showed his
diffidence, under the scrutiny of so many coldly inquiring eyes; but
after a moment he rose, and I, with greater quickness, seized his bag
by the handle and started across the street with it. He called out a
surprised and grateful "Thank you," and followed me. I was speedily
glad I had not undertaken to carry the bag as far as he had done;
'twas all I could do to bear it.
"How is this, lad?" said Mr. Faringfield, when the boy, with hat off,
stood before him. The tone was stern enough, a stranger would have
thought, though it was indeed a kindly one for Madge's father. "You
have come from Philadelphia to visit Mr. Aitken? Is he your relation?"
"No, sir; he was a friend of my father's before my father came to
America," replied the lad, in a low, respectful voice.
"Yet your father did not know he was gone back to England? How is
that?"
"My father is dead, sir; he died six years ago.
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