There were no robins in the trees that morning; there were only swift whirs of little wings in the distance, and sweet flurried calls which were scarcely noted in the merry clamor of the young men and girls.
Silas Berry stood a little aloof, leaning on a stout cane, looking on with an inscrutable expression on his dry old face.

He noted everything; he saw Rose talking to Barney; he saw his son William eating cherries with Rebecca Thayer out of one basket; but his expression never changed.

The predominant trait in his whole character had seemed to mould his face to itself unchangeably, as the face of a hunting-dog is moulded to his speed and watchfulness.
"Don't Mr.Berry look just like an old miser ?" a girl whispered to Rebecca Thayer; then she started and blushed confusedly, for she remembered suddenly that William Berry was said to be waiting upon Rebecca, and she also remembered that Charlotte Barnard, who was within hearing distance, was his niece.
Rebecca blushed, too.

"I never thought of it," she said, in a constrained voice.
"Well, I don't know as he does," apologized the girl.

"I suppose I thought of it because he's thin.