Come and shake hands with him," and bade her thus, thinking another child might encourage the boy.
With that Lucina hesitated no longer, but advanced, smiling softly, with the little lady-ways her mother had taught her, and held out her white morsel of a hand to the boy.

"How do you do ?" she said, prettily, though still a little shyly, for she was mindful how her gingerbread had been refused, and might not this strange poor boy also thrust the hand away with scorn?
She said that, and looking down, lest that black angry flash of his eyes startle her again, she saw his poor broken shoes, and gave a soft little cry, then made a pitiful lip, and stared hard at them with wide eyes full of astonished compassion, for the shoes seemed to her much more forlorn than bare feet.
Jerome's eyes followed hers, and he sprang up suddenly, his face blazing, and made out that he did not see the proffered little hand.
"Pretty well," he returned, gruffly.

Then he said to the Squire, with no lack of daring now, "Can I see you alone, sir ?" The Squire stared at him a second, then his great chest heaved with silent laughter and his yellow beard stirred as with a breeze of mirth.
"You don't object to my daughter's presence ?" he queried, his eyes twinkling still, but with the formality with which he might have addressed the minister.
Jerome scowled with important indignation.

Nothing escaped him; he saw that Squire Merritt was laughing at him.

Again the pitiful rebellion at his state of boyhood seized him.