Mrs. Cristie and her baby were warmly welcomed by Stephen Petter and his wife.  They had learned during her former visit to like this lady for herself, and now that she came to them a widow their sentiments towards her were warmer than ever.

Mrs. Petter wondered very much why she had come without a maid, but fearing that perhaps the poor lady’s circumstances were not what they had been she forbore to ask any immediate questions.  But in her heart she resolved that, if she kept her health and strength, Mrs. Cristie should not be worn out by that child.

The young widow was charmed to find herself once more at the Squirrel Inn, for it had been more like a home to her than any place in which she had lived since her marriage, but when she went to her room that night there was a certain depression on her spirits.  This was caused by the expected advent on the next day of Mr. Lodloe and a wagon-load of candidates for the nurse-maidship.

The whole affair annoyed her.  In the first place it was very awkward to have this young man engaged in this service for her; and now that he was engaged in it, it would be, in a manner, under her auspices that he would arrive at the Squirrel Inn.  The more she thought of the matter the more it annoyed her.  She now saw that she must announce the coming of this gentleman.  It would not do for him to make a totally unexpected appearance as her agent in the nurse-maid business.

But no worry of this sort could keep her awake very long, and after a night of sound and healthful sleep she told her host and hostess, the next morning at breakfast, of the Mr. Lodloe who had kindly undertaken to bring her a nurse-maid.

“Lodloe,” repeated Mr. Petter.  “It strikes me that I have heard the Rockmores mention that name.  Is it a Germantown family?”

“I really do not know,” answered Mrs. Cristie; “he is from New York.”

Here she stopped.  She was of a frank and truthful nature, and very much wished to say that she knew nothing whatever of Mr. Lodloe, but she was also of a kindly and grateful disposition, and she very well knew that such a remark would be an extremely detrimental one to the young man; so, being in doubt, she resolved to play trumps, and in cases like this silence is generally trumps.

Mrs. Petter had a mind which could project itself with the rapidity of light into the regions of possibilities, and if the possibilities appeared to her desirable her mind moved at even greater velocity.  It was plain to her that there must be something between this young widow and the young man who was going to bring her a nurse-maid; and if this were the case, nothing must be allowed to interfere with the admission of said young man as a guest at the Squirrel Inn.

Mrs. Cristie did not want to talk any more on this subject.  Nothing would have pleased her better at that moment than to hear that Mr. Lodloe had been unable to find her a suitable girl and that business had called him to New York.

“Mr. Petter,” she exclaimed, “I was told yesterday that you kept a Greek in an outhouse.  What on earth does that mean?”

Here Mrs. Petter laughed abruptly, and Mr. Petter slightly lifted his brow.

“Who could have told you such nonsense?” he said.  “There is no Greek here.  It is true that a Greek scholar lives in my summer-house, but that is very different from keeping a Greek in an outhouse.”

“And he’s always late to breakfast,” said Mrs. Petter; “I believe if we sat down at the table at nine o’clock he would come in just as we were finishing.”

“How does it happen,” said Mrs. Cristie, “that he lives in the summer-house?”

“He does not know the Rockmores of Germantown,” said Mrs. Petter.

“He is a man of learning,” remarked Stephen Petter, “with a fine mind; and although I have made a rule which is intended to keep up the reputation of this house to a desirable level, I do not intend, if I can help it, that my rules shall press pinchingly, oppressively, or irritatively upon estimable persons.  Such a person is Mr. Tippengray, our Greek scholar; and although his social relations are not exactly up to the mark, he is not a man who should be denied the privileges of this house, so far as they can be conscientiously given him.  So you see, Mrs. Cristie, that, although I could not take him into the inn, there was no reason why I should not fit up the summer-house for him, which I did, and I believe he likes it better than living in the house with us.”

“Like it!” exclaimed Mrs. Petter; “I should say he did like it.  I believe it would drive him crazy if he had to keep regular hours like other people; but here he is now.  Hester, bring in some hot cakes.  Mrs. Cristie, allow me to introduce Mr. Tippengray.”

The appearance of the Greek scholar surprised Mrs. Cristie.  She had expected to see a man in threadbare black, with a reserved and bowed demeanor.  Instead of this, she saw a bright little gentleman in neat summer clothes, with a large blue cravat tied sailor fashion.  He was not a young man, although his hair being light the few portions of it which had turned gray were not conspicuous.  He was a man who was inclined to listen and to observe rather than to talk, but when he had anything to say he popped it out very briskly.

Mr. Petter, having finished his breakfast, excused himself and retired, and Mrs. Petter remarked to Mr. Tippengray that she was sorry he had not taken his evening meal with them the day before.

“I took such a long walk,” said the Greek scholar, “that I concluded to sup in Lethbury.”

“Those Lethbury people usually take tea at five,” said his hostess.

“But I’m not a Lethbury person,” said he, “and I took my tea at seven.”

Mrs. Petter looked at him with twinkles in her eyes.

“Of course you went to the hotel,” she said.

Mr. Tippengray looked at her with twinkles in his eyes.

“Madam,” said he, “have you noticed that those large blue-jays that were here in the spring have almost entirely disappeared.  I remember you used to object to their shrill pipes.”

“Which is as much as to say,” said Mrs. Petter, “you don’t care to mention where you took tea yesterday.”

“Madam,” said Mr. Tippengray, “the pleasure of taking breakfast here to-day effaces the memory of all former meals.”

“The truth of it is,” said Mrs. Petter to Mrs. Cristie, when they had left the table, “Calthea Rose gave him his tea, and he don’t want to say so.  She’s mightily taken with him, for he is a fine-minded man, and it isn’t often she gets the chance of keeping company with that kind of a man.  I don’t know whether he likes her liking or not, but he don’t care to talk about it.”

Her first day at the Squirrel Inn was not altogether a pleasant one for Bertha Cristie.  In spite of the much-proffered service of Mrs. Petter the care of her baby hampered her a good deal; and notwithstanding the delights of her surroundings her mind was entirely too much occupied with wondering when Mr. Lodloe would arrive with his wagon-load of girls, and what she would have to say to him and about him when he did arrive.