"It's too cold for you, and you know it. Don't act like a six-year-old."
Wakefield raised his large dark eyes to Leigh's face. "It's sad, isn't it, always to be taking care of oneself? I'm always being told to stick by the fire and not be silly wanting to do things like other boys."
"There's nothing you like better than taking care of yourself," interrupted Finch, gruffly. He heard the sound of his uncles' voices upstairs. In a moment they would be descending. From the dining-room came the nasal flow of cockney excuses for some misdemeanour pouring from Rags's lips into Lady Buckley's unreceptive ear. Far off Mooey began angrily to cry. In the hall the old sheep-dog rose, shook himself, and uttered a deep-toned bark. All the house was stirring as the time for tea approached. Grandmother rubbed her long nose and peered out hazily into her firelit world.
"Life's a game," she announced, as though imparting a morsel of rare wisdom.
"Let's get out of here," said Finch.
He snatched their caps from the rack and handed Leigh his.
"What about our coats?" gasped Leigh, as they faced the blast at the opening of the side door.
"We'll sprint to the stables. It's warm enough there."
Running together, they passed a young fellow in leggings with a fine colour in his cheeks. He picked up a frozen winter pear from the ground and sent it after Finch's legs.
"That is my brother Piers," said Finch, as they entered the stables.
They found Renny in a loose box, arranging the forelock of a coy-looking mare with great exactness. Finch made the introduction without enthusiasm. He hoped little from this meeting.
"How do you do?" said the eldest Whiteoak, with a sharp glance at the visitor.
He was indeed formidable, thought young Leigh. He did not blame Finch for being afraid of him. His face, under its peaked tweed cap, looked as though wind and
