Neville stood, looking coldly at the intruder. He was jealous, for he saw the light of a new interest dawning in Elinor Calvert's face, and he saw the hot, passionate light of love at first sight as clear as day in Ralph Ingle's eyes. For the first time he was conscious with angry protest that he was growing old. His cast-down glance fell upon his grizzled mustachios, and he inwardly cursed the sign of age. "The conceited stripling!" he muttered, as he looked at the bowing golden curls. "I know I am not just. I have no ambition to be just. I hate him. Come, Cecil," he said, crossing over to where the child stood holding a wine cup in one hand and a distressingly large slice of fruit cake in the other, "thou and I have no larger part to play here than the cock in Hamlet." "What part did he play?" asked Cecil, crowding his mouth with plums, while he held the remaining cake high above his head to escape Knut's jumping. "Oh, the important office was his to announce the daybreak and put an end to the ghost's walking. Do ghosts walk nowadays dost thou think, Cecil?" "Sure." "I think so too; I have seen them,--in fact, I feel sometimes as if I were one of them." "Art thou really?" Cecil's eyes were round as saucers. "Well, never mind that question just now. Perhaps I am--perhaps I am not; do thou drain thy wine, and let us be off outside to build a snow-man in the road." Nothing loath, the child slipped his hand into the big, muscular one held out to him, and unobserved by the preoccupied group around the fire, they slipped out. Ralph Ingle turned as they passed him. "I must watch that man," he thought. "He who takes a child by the hand takes the mother by the heart." "Wait," said Cecil at the door. "I must doff my finery, for who knows when I may need it to receive another tenant?" "Prudent lad! I will do the same, lest I catch the fever and then thou must needs seek a new tenant. But, Cecil, promise me one thing." "Ay, a dozen if you wish." "Promise me that, whatever tenants thou mayst have hereafter, thou wilt like me best." "Why, so I will, especially if you give me the bow and arrows you promised. I liked you right away last night, and mother likes you, and Cousin Mary likes you, and Father White likes you a little; but I'll tell you who doth not." "Let us hear, then; who is he that has such poor taste in likings?" "Father Mohl." "Why do you think that?" "He thmiled at you." "Oh! Is that a bad sign with the reverend Mohl." "You mutht not call him that--you mutht call him holy Father. But you are right, it is a bad sign when he smiles that way. It is how he looks when he complains to Mother of me, and gets me a whipping. Father White smiles like a kind old pussy-cat; but Father Mohl smiles like a wolf." "But thou wilt stand my friend even if Father Mohl like me not?" "Pooh, that makes no difference!" "And thou wilt help thy mother to go on liking me?"