"Don't you think, Norah, that we ought to be putting Billy out to school?"
Mavis so far had acted as governess, with Norah to assist, and between them they had taught both children to read and write; but this home tuition could not go on indefinitely, and Dale thought that the time had already come when larger and bolder steps must be taken toward achieving that liberal education which he had solemnly promised his son and heir. He was always reading advertisements of attractive seaside schools, where the boy could secure home comforts, the rudiments of sound religious faith, as well as a good grounding in the humanities. Mavis, however, would not yet hear of a separation from her darling. She pleaded that he was such a little fellow still; she prayed Will not to hurry.
"Tell me what you think about it, Norah--quite candidly."
Norah had hesitated about replying; but she now said that she really thought Dale need not be in a hurry. Billy was so clever that when he did get to school he would learn faster than other boys; and she added that his departure from home would be "a dreadful wrinch for Mrs. Dale."
"But it will be a wrench for her whenever it happens. In life one has to prepare one's self for wrenches--That, I fancy, is the better way of pronouncing the word. Yes, wrench after wrench, Norah--that's life; until the last great wrench comes--and, well, that isn't life.... Who was that passed the window?"
Norah turned her bright young face to the window and peered out.
"It's Mr. Bates, sir. How funny he looks!"
"What d'you mean--funny?"
"Walking so slow, and leaning on his great stick--as if he was a pilgrim."
Dale had jumped off his stool; and he ran out to the road and begged the old man to come in.
"Certainly, William," said Mr. Bates.
He had cut himself a long staff from some woodland holly-tree, a rough prop that reached shoulder high, and on this he leaned heavily as soon as he stopped walking. He looked very old and very shaky.
"Good evening, Miss Veale," he said courteously as he entered the office.
"Oh, you mustn't call her Miss Veale. She's Norah--one of us, you know." And as he spoke, Dale laid his hand on the back of Norah's neck to prevent her from rising. "She's our multum in parvo--making herself so useful to the wife and me that we can't think what we should ever do without her. Bide where you are a moment, Norah."