ise liking to be alone at the age when rare moods
of mild melancholy trouble the time of rapid female florescence. There
was still between them acceptance of equality, with on his part a certain
growth of respectful consideration, on hers a gentle perception of his
gain in manliness and of deference to his experience of a world of which
she knew as yet nothing, but with some occasional resentment when the
dominating man in the boy came to the surface. When his aunt praised his
manners, Leila said, "He isn't always so very gentle." When his uncle
laughed at his awkward horsemanship, she defended him, reminding her
uncle, to his amusement, of her own early mishaps.

CHAPTER V

John's intimacy with the Squire prospered. Leila had been a gay comrade,
but not as yet so interested as to tempt him to discussion of the
confusing politics of the day. "She has not as yet a seeking mind," said
the rector, who in the confessional of the evening pipe saw more and more
plainly that this was a divided house. The Squire could not talk politics
with Ann, his wife. She held a changeless belief in regard to slavery, a
conviction of its value to owner and owned too positive to be tempted
into discussing it with people who knew so little of it and did not
agree with her. James Penhallow, like thousands in that day of grim
self-questioning, had been forced to reconsider opinions long held, and
was reaching conclusions which he learned by degrees made argument with
the simplicity of his wife's political creed more and more undesirable.
Leila was too young to be interested. The rector was intensely
anti-slavery and saw but one side of the ominous questions which were
bewildering the largest minds. The increasing interest in his nephew was,
therefore, a source of real relief to the uncle. Meanwhile, the financial
difficulties of the period demanded constant thought of the affairs of
the mills and took him away at times to Philadelphia or Pittsburgh. Thus
the summer ran on to an end. Buchanan and Breckenridge had been nominated
and the Republicans had accepted Fremont and Dayton.

Birthdays were always pleasantly remembered at Grey Pine, and on
September 20th, when John, aged sixteen, came down to breakfast, as he
took his seat Ann came behind him and said as she kissed him, "You are
sixteen to-day; here is my present."

The boy flushed with pleasure as he received a pair of silver spurs. "Oh!
thank you, Aunt Ann," he cried as he rose