Instead, here was a frail slip of a child scarcely larger than the
others. Sophie was thirteen, as he learned afterwards; but she did not
look to be ten by his standards. She was grave and deliberate in her
movements, and she gazed at the stranger with a pair of very big brown
eyes.
"This is Samuel Prescott," said her mother. "He is going to spend the
night, and maybe board with us."
"How do you do?" said Sophie, and took off the shawl from her head and
sat down in a corner. The boy thought that this was shyness upon her
part, but later on he realized that it was lassitude. The child rested
her head upon her hand every chance that she got, and she never did
anything that she did not have to.
The next morning, bright and early, Samuel was on hand at the saloon,
greatly to the amusement of his friend Finnegan. He got down on his
hands and knees and gave the place such a scrubbing as it had never
had before since it was built. And in return Finnegan invited him to
some breakfast, which Samuel finally accepted, because it would enable
him to take less from the Stedmans.
Professor Stewart had not specified any hour in his invitation. He
lived in the aristocratic district across the bridge and Samuel
presented himself at his door a little before eight.
"Professor Stewart told me to come and see him," he said to the maid.
"Professor Stewart is out of town," said she.
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