"Perhaps this person is doubly widowed," said Evelyn.
"Look, her dresses are short, almost to her knees!" Myra exclaimed as the two figures stood for a moment at the summit of the last little hill before reaching the yard gate.
"Quite shocking!" cried Evelyn.
Spot had made no comments as he watched with his family. His wits were slow, but he realized that something was by the way of happening at Mill House, something that was going to have a bearing on the fortunes of the family.
As Philip Bolling and his little companion approached Mill House, after entering the yard gate, Major Taylor, his son and two daughters arose from their seats and stood in frozen silence. They might have been posing for a photograph of a family group on the front porch, so stiff and ill at ease did they appear. Spottswood, who had been seated on the low step, was in the foreground in the sun, the others back in the shadow of the porch.
The fact that the little old woman had turned out to be a child did not make them burst into laughter as it had Philip on the night before in the sleeper. Nobody felt like laughing. Even Major Taylor's grim humor failed to assert
