little in appearance, though his slim figure had shot up rapidly
in height. His chestnut hair grew in high peaks from his temples
and swept in a single lock above his small, sparkling eyes, which
held an expression of intelligent animation. On the whole, it was
not an unpleasing face, despite the tremulous droop of the mouth,
already darkened by the faint beginning of a brown mustache.

"Oh, Molly Peterkin stopped me in the road," he replied readily.
"I'd caught her eye once or twice before, but this was the first
chance we'd had to speak. I tell you she's a peach, Christopher."

Christopher came down from the ladder and spread the straw evenly
in the horses' stalls.

"So they say," he responded; "but I haven't much of an eye for
women, you know. Now, when it comes to judging a leaf of tobacco,
I'm a match for any man."

"Well, one can't be everything," remarked Will consolingly. He
snatched at a piece of straw that had fallen on the lowest rung
of the ladder and began idly chewing it. "As for me I know a
blamed sight more about women than I do about tobacco," he added,
with a swagger.

Christopher glanced up, and at sight of the boyish figure burst
into a hearty laugh.

"Oh, you're a jolly old sport, I know, and to think that Tom
Spade has been accusing me of leading you astray! Why, you are
already twice the man that I am."