But the odd little half-blood was extraordinarily handsome even as
an infant. In after years when he grew into glorious manhood he
was generally acknowledged to be the handsomest man in the Province
of Ontario, but to-day--his first day in these strange, new
surroundings--he was but a wee, brown, lovable bundle, whose tiny
gossamer hands cuddled into his father's palm, while his little
velvet cheek lay rich and russet against the pearly whiteness of
his mother's arm.
"I believe he is like you, George," she murmured, with a wealth of
love in her voice and eyes.
"Yes," smiled the young chief, "he certainly has Mansion blood; but
your eyes, Lydia, your dear eyes."
"Which eyes must go to sleep and rest," interrupted the physician,
severely. "Come, Chief, you've seen your son, you've satisfied
yourself that Mrs. Mansion is doing splendidly, so away you go,
or I shall scold."
And George slipped down the staircase, and out into the radiant
July sunshine, where his beloved trees arose about him, grand and
majestic, seeming to understand how full of joy, of exultation,
had been this great new day.
* * * * *
The whims of women are proverbial, but the whims of men are things
never to be accounted for.
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